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J 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  • BOSTON  • CHICAGO  • DALLAS 
ATLANTA  • SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  & CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  • BOMBAY  • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


THE 


MEDIAEVAL  MIND 

A HISTORY  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT 
OF  THOUGHT  AND  EMOTION 
IN  THE  MIDDLE  AGES 


HENRY  OSBORN  TAYLOR 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES 
VOL.  I 


THIRD  (AMERICAN)  EDITION 


Neto  gork 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 


1919 


TO 

J.  I.  T. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016  with  funding  from 
Getty  Research  Institute 


https://archive.org/details/mediaevalmindhis01tayl 


PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  (AMERICAN) 
EDITION 


Since  the  second  edition  of  this  book  was  exhausted,  nearly 
a year  ago,  there  has  been  a constant  and  gratifying  demand 
for  it.  As  the  work  was  then  carefully  revised  wherever  there 
was  need  of  revision  or  addition,  no  changes  have  been  made 
in  the  text  of  the  present  edition.  The  second  edition  was 
published  shortly  before  the  War  began.  During  the  last 
four  years  the  comparatively  few  publications  relating  to  the 
Middle  Ages,  which  have  come  to  my  notice,  have  not  sug- 
gested any  alterations. 

Henry  Osborn  Taylor. 

New  York,  September , 1919. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION 


When  through  some  years  of  happy  labour  one  has  written 
a book  after  his  own  plan,  and  has  set  forth  in  it  the  things 
which  were  to  him  interesting  and  valuable,  there  is  no 
keener  pleasure  than  to  have  others  likewise  find  them  so. 
The  reception  of  The  Mediaeval  Mind  has  been  very  gratify- 
ing. My  thanks  are  due  to  those  reviewers  who  have  praised 
it  above  its  deserts,  and  to  those  whose  salutary  criticisms 
have  been  availed  of  for  the  present  edition. 

The  book  has  been  carefully  reconsidered  throughout,  and 
some  statements  have  been  changed  or  amplified.  A new 
chapter  has  been  introduced  upon  the  Towns  and  Guilds 
and  the  Crusades,  regarded  as  phases  of  mediaeval  growth. 
My  translations  from  the  Latin  have  been  examined  and  the 
slips  corrected.  Although  occasionally  abridged,  I have 
tried  to  keep  them  literal,  and  free  from  thoughts  not  in  the 
original. 

Henry  Osborn  Taylor. 

New  York,  January , 1914. 


viii 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION 


The  Middle  Ages ! They  seem  so  far  away ; intellectu- 
ally so  preposterous,  spiritually  so  strange.  Bits  of  them 
may  touch  our  sympathy,  please  our  taste;  their  window- 
glass,  their  sculpture,  certain  of  their  stories,  their  romances, 
— as  if  those  straitened  ages  really  were  the  time  of 
romance,  which  they  were  not,  God  knows,  in  the  sense 
commonly  taken.  Yet  perhaps  they  were  such  intellectu- 
ally, or  at  least  spiritually.  Their  terra — not  for  them 
incognita , though  full  of  mystery  and  pall  and  vaguer 
glory — was  not  the  earth.  It  was  the  land  of  metaphysical 
construction  and  the  land  of  spiritual  passion.  There  lay 
their  romance,  thither  pointed  their  veriest  thinking,  thither 
drew  their  utter  yearning. 

Is  it  possible  that  the  Middle  Ages  should  speak  to 
us,  as  through  a common  humanity?  Their  mask  is  by 
no  means  dumb : in  full  voice  speaks  the  noble  beauty 
of  Chartres  Cathedral.  Such  mediaeval  product,  we  hope, 
is  of  the  universal  human,  and  therefore  of  us  as  well  as 
of  the  bygone  craftsmen.  Why  it  moves  us  we  are  not 
certain,  being  ignorant,  perhaps,  of  the  building’s  formative 
and  earnestly  intended  meaning.  Do  we  care  to  get  at 
that?  There  is  no  way  save  by  entering  the  mediaeval 
depths,  penetrating  to  the  rationale  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
learning  the  doctrinale , or  emotionale,  of  the  modes  in  which 
they  still  present  themselves  so  persuasively. 

But  if  the  pageant  of  those  centuries  charm  our  eyes 
with  forms  that  seem  so  full  of  meaning,  why  should  we 


IX 


X 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


stand  indifferent  to  the  harnessed  processes  of  mediaeval 
thinking  and  the  passion  surging  through  the  thought  ? 
Thought  marshalled  the  great  mediaeval  procession,  which 
moved  to  measures  of  pulsating  and  glorifying  emotion. 
Shall  we  not  press  on,  through  knowledge,  and  search 
out  its  efficient  causes,  so  that  we  too  may  feel  the  reality 
of  the  mediaeval  argumentation,  with  the  possible  validity 
of  mediaeval  conclusions,  and  tread  those  channels  of 
mediaeval  passion  which  were  cleared  and  deepened  by 
the  thought?  This  would  be  to  reach  human  comradeship 
with  mediaeval  motives,  no  longer  found  too  remote  for 
our  sympathy,  or  too  fantastic  or  shallow  for  our  under- 
standing. 

But  where  is  the  path  through  these  footless  mazes? 
Obviously,  if  we  would  attain,  perhaps,  no  unified,  but  at 
least  an  orderly  presentation  of  mediaeval  intellectual  and 
emotional  development,  we  must  avoid  entanglements  with 
manifold  and  not  always  relevant  detail.  We  must  not 
drift  too  far  with  studies  of  daily  life,  habits  and  dress, 
wars  and  raiding,  crimes  and  brutalities,  or  trade  and  craft 
and  agriculture.  Nor  will  it  be  wise  to  keep  too  close  to 
theology  or  within  the  lines  of  growth  of  secular  and 
ecclesiastical  institutions.  Let  the  student  be  mindful  of 
his  purpose  (which  is  my  purpose  in  this  book)  to  follow 
through  the  Middle  Ages  the  development  of  intellectual 
energy  and  the  growth  of  emotion.  Holding  this  end  in 
view,  we,  students  all,  shall  not  stray  from  our  quest  after 
those  human  qualities  which  impelled  the  strivings  of 
mediaeval  men  and  women,  informed  their  imaginations, 
and  moved  them  to  love  and  tears  and  pity. 

The  plan  and  method  by  which  I have  endeavoured  to 
realize  this  purpose  in  my  book  may  be  gathered  from  the 
Table  of  Contents  and  the  First  Chapter,  which  is  intro- 
ductory. These  will  obviate  the  need  of  sketching  here 
the  order  of  presentation  of  the  successive  or  co-ordinated 
topics  forming  the  subject-matter. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION 


xi 


Yet  one  word  as  to  the  standpoint  from  which  the 
book  is  written.  An  historian  explains  by  the  standards 
and  limitations  of  the  times  to  which  his  people  belong. 
He  judges — for  he  must  also  judge — by  his  own  best 
wisdom.  His  sympathy  cannot  but  reach  out  to  those 
who  lived  up  to  their  best  understanding  of  life ; for  who 
can  do  more?  Yet  woe  unto  that  man  whose  mind  is 
closed,  whose  standards  are  material  and  base. 

Not  only  shalt  thou  do  what  seems  well  to  thee ; but 
thou  shalt  do  right,  with  wisdom.  History  has  laid  some 
thousands  of  years  of  emphasis  on  this.  Thou  shalt  not 
only  be  sincere,  but  thou  shalt  be  righteous,  and  not 
iniquitous ; beneficent,  and  not  malignant ; loving  and 
lovable,  and  not  hating  and  hateful.  Thou  shalt  be  a 
promoter  of  light,  and  not  of  darkness;  an  illuminator, 
and  not  an  obscurer.  Not  only  shalt  thou  seek  to  choose 
aright,  but  at  thy  peril  thou  shalt  so  choose.  “Unto  him 
that  hath  shall  be  given” — nothing  is  said  about  sincerity. 
The  fool,  the  maniac,  is  sincere;  the  mainsprings  of  the 
good  which  we  may  commend  lie  deeper. 

So,  and  at  his  peril  likewise,  must  the  historian  judge. 
He  cannot  state  the  facts  and  sit  aloof,  impartial  between 
good  and  ill,  between  success  and  failure,  progress  and 
retrogression,  the  soul’s  health  and  loveliness,  and  spiritual 
foulness  and  disease.  He  must  love  and  hate,  and  at  his 
peril  love  aright  and  hate  what  is  truly  hateful.  And 
although  his  sympathies  quiver  to  understand  and  feel 
as  the  man  and  woman  before  him,  his  sympathies  must 
be  controlled  by  wisdom. 

Whatever  may  be  one’s  beliefs,  a realization  of  the 
power  and  import  of  the  Christian  Faith  is  needed  for  an 
understanding  of  the  thoughts  and  feelings  moving  the 
men  and  women  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  for  a just  apprecia- 
tion of  their  aspirations  and  ideals.  Perhaps  the  fittest 
standard  to  apply  to  them  is  one’s  own  broadest  conception 
of  the  Christian  scheme,  the  Christian  scheme  whole  and 


Xll 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


entire  with  the  full  life  of  Christ’s  Gospel.  Every  age  has 
offered  an  interpretation  of  that  Gospel  and  an  attempt 
at  fulfilment.  Neither  the  interpretation  of  the  Church 
Fathers,  nor  that  of  the  Middle  Ages  satisfies  us  now.  And 
by  our  further  understanding  of  life  and  the  Gospel  of  life, 
we  criticize  the  judgment  of  mediaeval  men.  We  have  to 
sympathize  with  their  best,  and  understand  their  lives  out 
of  their  lives  and  the  conditions  in  which  they  were  passed. 
But  we  must  judge  according  to  our  own  best  wisdom,  and 
out  of  ourselves  offer  our  comment  and  contribution. 

Henry  Osborn  Taylor. 

New  York,  January , 1911. 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  I 

THE  GROUNDWORK 
CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

Genesis  of  the  Mediaeval  Genius 3 

CHAPTER  II 

The  Latinizing  of  the  West 23 

CHAPTER  III 

Greek  Philosophy  as  the  Antecedent  of  the  Patristic 

Apprehension  of  Fact 33 

CHAPTER  IV 

Intellectual  Interests  of  the  Latin  Fathers  . . . 61 

CHAPTER  V 

Latin  Transmitters  of  Antique  and  Patristic  Thought  88 

CHAPTER  VI 

The  Barbaric  Disruption  of  the  Empire  . . . . no 

xiii 


XIV 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  Celtic  Strain  in  Gaul  and  Ireland  . 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Teuton  Qualities:  Anglo-Saxon,  German,  Norse 


CHAPTER  IX 

The  Bringing  of  Christianity  and  Antique  Knowledge 

to  the  Northern  Peoples 

I.  Irish  Activities ; Columbanus  of  Luxeuil. 

II.  Conversion  of  the  English ; the  Learning  of  Bede  and 
Alfred. 

III.  Gaul  and  Germany;  from  Clovis  to  St.  Winifried- 
Boniface. 


BOOK  II 

THE  EARLY  MIDDLE  AGES 


CHAPTER  X 

Carolingian  Period:  the  First  Stage  in  the  Appro- 
priation of  the  Patristic  and  Antique 


CHAPTER  XI 

Mental  Aspects  of  the  Eleventh  Century:  Italy 
I.  From  Charlemagne  to  Hildebrand. 

II.  The  Human  Situation. 

III.  The  Italian  Continuity  of  Antique  Culture. 

IV.  Italy’s  Intellectual  Piety:  Peter  Damiani  and  St. 

Anselm. 


PACK 

124 


138 


169 


207 


23Q 


CONTENTS 


xv 


CHAPTER  XII 

PAGE 

Mental  Aspects  of  the  Eleventh  Century:  France  . 282 

I.  Gerbert. 

II.  Odilo  of  Cluny, 

III.  Fulbert  and  the  School  of  Chartres;  Trivium  and 

Quadrivium. 

IV.  Berengar  of  Tours,  Roscellin  and  the  Coming  Time. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Mental  Aspects  of  the  Eleventh  Century:  Germany; 

England 308 

I.  German  Appropriation  of  Christianity  and  Antique 
Culture. 

II.  Othloh’s  Spiritual  Conflict. 

III.  England ; Closing  Comparisons. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Phases  of  Mediaeval  Growth 33  r 

I.  The  Crusades. 

II.  Towns  and  Guilds. 


CHAPTER  XV 

The  Growth  of  Mediaeval  Emotion 346 

I.  The  Patristic  Chart  of  Passion. 

II.  Emotionalizing  of  Latin  Christianity. 


XVI 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 

THE  IDEAL  AND  THE  ACTUAL: 

THE  SAINTS 

CHAPTER  XVI 

PAGE 

The  Reforms  of  Monasticism 369 

Mediaeval  Extremes ; Benedict  of  Aniane ; Cluny ; 
Citeaux’s  Charta  Charitatis;  the  vita  contemplativa 
accepts  the  vita  activa. 

CHAPTER  XVII 

The  Hermit  Temper 384 

Peter  Damiani;  Romuald;  Dominicus  Loricatus;  Bruno 
and  Guigo,  Carthusians. 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

The  Quality  of  Love  in  St.  Bernard  ....  408 

CHAPTER  XIX 

St.  Francis  of  Assisi 431 

CHAPTER  XX 

Mystic  Visions  of  Ascetic  Women 458 

Elizabeth  of  Schonau;  Hildegard  of  Bingen;  Mary  of 
Ognies ; Liutgard  of  Tongern ; Mechthild  of  Magdeburg. 

CHAPTER  XXI 

The  Spotted  Actuality 487 

The  Testimony  of  Invective  and  Satire ; Archbishop  Ri- 
gaud’s  Register;  Engelbert  of  Cologne  ; Popular  Credences. 


CONTENTS 


xvu 


CHAPTER  XXII 

PAGE 

The  World  of  Salimbene  . 510 


BOOK  IV 

THE  IDEAL  AND  THE  ACTUAL: 

SOCIETY 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

Feudalism  and  Knighthood 537 

Feudal  and  Christian  Origin  of  Knightly  Virtue;  the 
Order  of  the  Temple;  Godfrey  of  Bouillon;  St.  Louis- 
Froissart’s  Chronicles . 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

Romantic  Chivalry  and  Courtly  Love  ...  574 

From  Roland  to  Tristan  and  Lancelot. 


BOOK  I 


THE  GROUNDWORK 


CHAPTER  I 


GENESIS  OF  THE  MEDIAEVAL  GENIUS 

The  antique  civilization  of  the  Roman  Empire  was  followed 
by  that  depression  of  decadence  and  barbarization  which 
separates  antiquity  from  the  Middle  Ages.  Out  of  the 
confusion  of  this  intervening  period  emerged  the  mediaeval 
peoples  of  western  Europe.  These,  as  knowledge  increased 
with  them,  began  to  manifest  spiritual  traits  having  no  clear 
counterpart  in  the  ancient  sources  from  which  they  drew  the 
matter  of  their  thought  and  contemplation. 

The  past  which  furnished  the  content  of  mediaeval 
thought  was  twofold,  very  dual,  even  carrying  within  itself 
the  elements  of  irreconcilable  conflict ; and  yet  with  its 
opposing  fronts  seemingly  confederated,  if  not  made  into 
one.  Sprung  from  such  warring  elements,  fashioned  by  all 
the  interests  of  life  in  heaven  as  well  as  life  on  earth,  the 
traits  and  faculties  of  mediaeval  humanity  were  to  make  a 
motley  company.  Clearly  each  mediaeval  century  will  offer 
a manifold  of  disparity  and  irrelationship,  not  to  be  brought 
to  unity,  any  more  than  can  be  followed  to  the  breast  of  one 
mighty  wind-god  the  blasts  that  blow  from  every  quarter 
over  the  waters  of  our  own  time.  Nevertheless,  each 
mediaeval  century,  and  if  one  will,  the  entire  Middle  Ages, 
seen  in  distant  perspective,  presents  a consistent  picture,  in 
which  dominant  mediaeval  traits,  retaining  their  due  pre- 
eminence, may  afford  a just  conception  of  the  mediaeval 
genius.1 

1 The  present  work  is  not  occupied  with  the  brutalities  of  mediaeval  life,  nor 
with  all  the  lower  grades  of  ignorance  and  superstition  abounding  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  and  still  existing,  in  a less  degree,  through  parts  of  Spain  and  southern 


4 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


I 

While  complex  in  themselves,  and  intricate  in  their 
interaction,  the  elements  that  were  to  form  the  spiritual 
constituency  of  the  Middle  Ages  of  western  Europe  may 
be  disentangled  and  regarded  separately.  There  was  first 
the  element  of  the  antique,  which  was  descended  from  the 
thought  and  knowledge  current  in  Italy  and  the  western 
provinces  of  the  Roman  Empire,  where  Latin  was  the 
common  language.  In  those  Roman  times,  this  fund  of 
thought  and  knowledge  consisted  of  Greek  metaphysics, 
physical  science,  and  ethics,  and  also  of  much  that  the  Latins 
had  themselves  evolved,  especially  in  private  law  and  political 
institutions. 

Rome  had  borrowed  her  philosophy  and  the  motives 
of  her  literature  and  art  from  Greece.  At  first,  quite 
provincially,  she  drew  as  from  a foreign  source ; but  as 
the  great  Republic  extended  her  boundaries  around  the 
Mediterranean  world,  and  brought  under  her  levelling  power 
the  Hellenized  or  still  Asiatic  East,  and  Africa  and  Spain 
and  Gaul  as  well,  Greek  thought,  as  the  informing  principle 
of  knowledge,  was  diffused  throughout  all  this  Roman 
Empire,  and  ceased  to  be  alien  to  the  Latin  West.  Yet  the 
peoples  of  the  West  did  not  become  Hellenized,  or  change 
their  speech  for  Greek.  Latin  held  its  own  against  its 
subtle  rival,  and  continued  to  advance  with  power  through 
the  lands  which  had  spoken  other  tongues  before  their 
Roman  subjugation ; and  it  was  the  soul  of  Latium,  and 
not  the  soul  of  Hellas,  that  imbued  these  lands  with  a 
new  homogeneity  of  civic  order.  The  Greek  knowledge 
which  spread  through  them  was  transmuted  in  Latin  speech 
or  writings;  while  the  great  Latin  authors  who  modelled 
Latin  literature  upon  the  Greek,  and  did  so  much  to  fill  the 
Latin  mind  with  Greek  thoughts,  recast  their  borrowings  in 
their  own  style  as  well  as  language,  and  re-tempered  the 


France  and  Italy.  Consequently  I have  not  such  things  very  actively  in  mind 
when  speaking  of  the  mediaeval  genius.  That  phrase,  and  the  like,  in  this  book,  will 
signify  the  more  informed  and  constructive  spirit  of  the  mediaeval  time. 


ch.i  GENESIS  OF  THE  MEDIAEVAL  GENIUS  5 


matter  to  accord  with  the  Roman  natures  of  themselves  and 
their  countrymen.  Hence  only  through  Latin  paraphrase, 
and  through  transformation  in  the  Latin  classics,  Greek 
thought  reached  the  mediaeval  peoples ; until  the  thirteenth 
century,  when  a better  acquaintance  was  opened  with  the 
Greek  sources,  yet  still  through  closer  Latin  translations,  as 
will  be  seen. 

Thus  it  was  with  the  pagan  antique  as  an  element  of 
mediaeval  culture.  Nor  was  it  very  different  with  the 
patristic,  or  Christian  antique,  element.  For  in  the  fourth 
and  fifth  centuries,  the  influence  of  pagan  Greece  on  pagan 
Rome  tended  to  repeat  itself  in  the  relations  between  the 
Greek  and  the  Latin  Fathers  of  the  Church.  The  dogmatic 
formulation  of  Christianity  was  mainly  the  work  of  the 
former.  Tertullian,  a Latin,  had  indeed  been  an  early  and 
important  contributor  to  the  process.  But,  in  general,  the 
Latin  Fathers  were  to  approve  and  confirm  the  work  of 
Athanasius  and  of  his  coadjutors  and  predecessors,  who 
thought  and  wrote  in  Greek.  Nevertheless,  Augustine  and 
other  Latin  Fathers  ordered  and  made  anew  what  had 
come  from  their  elder  brethren  in  the  East,  Latinizing  it  in 
form  and  temper  as  well  as  language.  At  the  same  time, 
they  supplemented  it  with  matter  drawn  from  their  own 
thinking.  It  was  thus  that  patristic  theology  and  the 
entire  mass  of  Christianized  knowledge  and  opinion  came 
to  the  Middle  Ages  in  a Latin  medium. 

A third  and  vaguest  factor  in  the  evolution  of  the 
mediaeval  genius  consisted  in  the  diverse  and  manifold 
capacities  of  the  mediaeval  peoples  : Italians  whose  ancestors 
had  been  very  part  of  the  antique ; inhabitants  of  Spain  and 
Gaul  who  were  descended  from  once  Latinized  provincials ; 
and  lastly  that  widespread  Teuton  folk,  whose  forbears  had 
barbarized  and  broken  the  Roman  Empire  in  those  centuries 
when  a decadent  civilization  could  no  longer  make  Romans 
of  barbarians.  Moreover,  the  way  in  which  Christianity  was 
brought  to  the  Teuton  peoples  and  accepted  by  them,  and 
the  manner  of  their  introduction  to  the  pagan  culture, 
reduced  at  last  to  following  in  the  Christian  train,  did  not 
cease  for  centuries  to  react  upon  the  course  of  mediaeval 
development. 


6 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


The  distinguishing  characteristics  which  make  the  Mid- 
dle Ages  a period  in  the  history  of  western  Europe  were 
the  result  of  the  interaction  of  the  elements  of  mediaeval 
development  working  together,  and  did  not  spring  from  the 
singular  nature  of  any  one  of  them.  Accordingly,  the  proper 
beginning  of  the  Middle  Ages,  so  far  as  one  may  speak  of  a 
beginning,  should  lie  in  the  time  of  the  conjunction  of  these 
elements  in  a joint  activity.  That  could  not  be  before  the 
barbaric  disturbers  of  the  Roman  peace  had  settled  down  to 
life  and  progress  under  the  action  of  Latin  Christianity  and 
the  surviving  antique  culture.  Nor  may  this  beginning  be 
placed  before  the  time  when  Gregory  the  Great  (d.  604) 
had  refashioned  Augustine,  and  much  that  was  earlier,  to 
the  measure  of  the  coming  centuries;  nor  before  Boethius 
(d.  523),  Cassiodorus  (d.  575),  and  Isidore  of  Seville  (d.  636) 
had  prepared  the  antique  pabulum  for  the  mediaeval 
stomach.  All  these  men  were  intermediaries  or  transmitters, 
and  belong  to  the  epoch  of  transition  from  the  antique  and 
the  patristic  to  the  properly  inceptive  time,  when  new 
learners  were  beginning,  in  typically  mediaeval  ways,  to 
rehandle  the  patristic  material  and  what  remained  of  the 
antique.  Contemporary  with  those  intermediaries,  or  fol- 
lowing hard  upon  them,  were  the  great  missionaries  or 
converters,  who  laboured  to  introduce  Christianity,  with 
the  antique  thought  incorporated  in  it  and  the  squalid 
survival  of  antique  education  sheltered  in  its  train,  to 
Teuton  peoples  in  Gaul,  England,  and  Rhenish  Germany. 
Among  these  was  the  truculent  Irishman,  St.  Colum- 
banus  (d.  615),  founder  of  Luxeuil  and  Bobbio,  whose 
disciple  was  St.  Gall,  and  whose  contemporary  was  St. 
Augustine  of  Canterbury,  whom  Gregory  the  Great  sent 
to  convert  the  Anglo-Saxons.  A good  century  later,  St. 
Winifried-Boniface  is  working  to  establish  Christianity  in 
Germany.1  Thus  it  will  not  be  easy  to  find  a large  and 
catholic  beginning  for  the  Middle  Ages  until  the  eighth 
century  is  reached,  and  we  are  come  on  what  is  called  the 
Carolingian  period. 

Let  us  approach  a little  nearer,  and  consider  the  situa- 
tion of  western  Europe  with  respect  to  antique  culture  and 

1 There  will  be  much  to  say  of  all  these  men  in  later  chapters. 


ch.i  GENESIS  OF  THE  MEDIAEVAL  GENIUS  7 


Latin  Christianity  in  the  centuries  following  the  disruption 
of  the  Roman  Empire.  The  broadest  di  tinction  is  to  be 
drawn  between  Italy  and  the  lands  north  of  the  Alps.  Under 
the  Empire,  there  was  an  Italian  people.  However  diverse 
may  have  been  its  ancient  stocks,  this  people  had  long 
since  become  Latin  in  language,  culture,  sentiment,  and 
tradition.  They  were  the  heirs  of  the  Greek,  and  the 
creators  of  the  Roman  literature,  art,  philosophy,  and  law. 
They  were  never  to  become  barbarians,  although  they 
suffered  decadence.  Like  all  great  peoples,  they  had  shown 
a power  to  assimilate  foreigners,  which  was  not  lost,  but 
only  degraded  and  diminished,  in  the  fourth  and  fifth 
centuries,  when  Teutonic  slaves,  immigrants,  invaders, 
seemed  to  be  barbarizing  the  Latin  order  quite  as  much  as 
it  was  Latinizing  them.  In  these  and  the  following  times 
the  culture  of  Italy  sank  lamentably  low.  Yet  there  was 
no  break  of  civilization,  but  only  a deep  decline  and  then 
a re-emergence,  in  the  course  of  which  the  Latin  civilization 
had  become  Italian.  For  a lowered  form  of  classical  educa- 
tion had  survived,  and  the  better  classes  continued  to  be 
educated  people  according  to  the  degraded  standard  and 
lessened  intellectual  energies  of  those  times.1 

Undoubtedly,  in  its  decline  this  Latin  civilization  of 
Italy  could  no  longer  raise  barbarians  to  the  level  of  the 
Augustan  age.  Yet  it  still  was  making  them  over  into 
the  likeness  of  its  own  weakened  children.  The  Visigoths 
broke  into  Italy,  then,  as  we  are  told,  passed  into  southern 
France ; other  confused  barbarians  came  and  went,  and  then 
the  Ostrogoths,  with  Theodoric  at  their  head,  an  excellent 
but  not  very  numerous  folk.  They  stayed  in  Italy,  and 
fought  and  died,  or  lived  on,  changing  into  indistinguishable 
Italians,  save  for  flashes  of  yellow  hair,  appearing  and  re- 
appearing where  the  Goths  had  lived.  And  then  the 
Lombards,  crueller  than  the  Goths,  but  better  able  to  main- 
tain their  energies  effective.  Their  numbers  also  were  not 
great,  compared  with  the  Italians.  And  thereafter,  in  spite 
of  their  fierceness  and  the  tenacity  of  their  Germanic  customs, 
the  succeeding  Lombard  generations  became  imbued  with 
the  culture  of  Italy.  They  became  North  Italians,  gravi- 

1 Post,  Chapter  XI. 


8 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


tating  to  the  towns  of  Lombardy,  or  perhaps,  farther  to  the 
south,  holding  together  in  settlements  of  their  own,  or 
forming  the  nucleus  of  a hill-dwelling  country  nobility. 

The  Italian  stock  remained  predominant  over  all  the 
incomers  of  northern  blood.  It  certainly  needed  no  intro- 
duction to  what  had  largely  been  its  own  creation,  the 
Latin  civilization.  With  weakened  hands,  it  still  held  to 
the  education,  the  culture,  of  its  own  past ; it  still  read  its 
ancient  literature,  and  imitated  it  in  miserable  verse.  The 
incoming  barbarians  had  hastened  the  land’s  intellectual 
downfall.  But  all  the  plagues  of  inroad  and  pestilence  and 
famine,  which  intermittently  devastated  Italy  from  the  fifth 
to  the  tenth  century,  left  some  squalid  continuity  of  educa- 
tion. And  those  barbarian  stocks  which  stayed  in  that 
home  of  the  classics,  became  imbued  with  whatever  culture 
existed  around  them,  and  tended  gradually  to  coalesce  with 
the  Italians. 

Evidently  in  its  old  home,  where  it  merely  had  become 
decadent,  this  ancient  culture  would  fill  a role  quite  different 
from  any  specific  influence  which  it  might  exert  in  a country 
where  the  Latin  education  was  freshly  introduced.  In 
Italy,  a general  survival  of  Roman  law  and  institution, 
custom  and  tradition,  endured  so  far  as  these  various  ele- 
ments of  the  Italian  civilization  had  not  been  lost  or  dis- 
possessed, or  left  high  and  dry  above  the  receding  tide  of 
culture  and  intelligence.  Christianity  had  been  superim- 
posed upon  paganism ; and  the  Christian  faith  held  thoughts 
incompatible  with  antique  views  of  life.  Teutonic  customs 
were  brought  in,  and  the  Lombard  codes  were  enacted, 
working  some  specific  supersession  of  the  Roman  law. 
The  tone,  the  sentiment,  the  mind  of  the  Italian  people  had 
altered  from  the  patterns  presented  by  Cicero,  or  Virgil,  or 
Horace,  or  Tacitus.  Nevertheless,  the  antique  remained  as 
the  soil  from  which  things  grew,  or  as  the  somewhat  turgid 
atmosphere  breathed  by  living  beings.  It  was  not  merely 
a form  of  education  or  vehicle  of  edifying  knowledge,  nor 
solely  a literary  standard.  The  common  modes  of  the 
antique  were  there  as  well,  its  daily  habits,  its  urbanity  and 
its  dross. 

The  relationship  toward  the  antique  held  by  the  peoples 


ch.  i GENESIS  OF  THE  MEDIAEVAL  GENIUS  9 


of  the  Iberian  peninsula  and  the  lands  which  eventually 
were  to  make  France,  was  not  quite  the  same  as  that  held 
by  the  Italians.  Spain,  save  in  intractable  mountain  regions, 
had  become  a domicile  of  Latin  culture  before  its  people 
were  converted  to  Christianity.  Then  it  became  a strong- 
hold of  early  Catholicism.  Latin  and  Catholic  Spain 
absorbed  its  Visigothic  invaders,  who  in  a few  generations 
had  appropriated  the  antique  culture,  and  had  turned  from 
Arianism  to  the  orthodoxy  of  their  new  home.  Under 
Visigothic  rule,  the  Spanish  church  became  exceptionally 
authoritative,  and  its  Latin  and  Catholic  learning  flourished 
at  the  beginning  of  the  seventh  century.  These  conditions 
gave  way  before  the  Moorish  conquest,  which  was  most 
complete  in  the  most  thoroughly  Romanized  portions  of 
the  land.  Yet  the  permanent  Latinization  of  the  territory 
where  Christianity  continued,  is  borne  witness  to  by  the 
languages  growing  from  the  vulgar  Latin  dialects.  The 
endurance  of  Latin  culture  is  shown  by  the  polished  Latinity 
of  Theodulphus,  a Spanish  Goth,  who  left  his  home  at  the 
invitation  of  Charlemagne,  and  died,  the  best  Latin  verse- 
maker  of  his  time,  as  Bishop  of  Orleans  in  821.  Thus  the 
education,  culture,  and  languages  of  Spain  were  all  from 
the  antique.  Yet  the  genius  of  the  land  was  to  be  specifi- 
cally Spanish  rather  than  assimilated  to  any  such  deep-soiled 
paganism  as  underlay  the  ecclesiastical  Christianization  of 
Italy. 

As  for  France,  in  the  southern  part  which  had  been 
Provincia,  the  antique  endured  in  laws  and  institutions,  in 
architecture  and  in  ways  of  life,  to  a degree  second  only  to 
its  dynamic  continuity  in  Italy.  And  this  in  spite  of  the 
crude  masses  of  Teutondom  which  poured  into  Provincia 
to  be  leavened  by  its  culture.  In  northern  France  there 
were  more  barbarian  folk  and  a less  universally  diffused 
Latinity.  The  Merovingian  period  swept  most  of  the  last 
away,  leaving  a fair  field  to  be  sown  afresh  with  the  Latin 
education  of  the  Carolingian  revival.  Yet  the  inherited  dis- 
cipline of  obedience  to  the  Roman  order  was  not  obliterated 
from  the  Gallic  stock,  and  the  lasting  Latinization  of  Gaul 
endured  in  the  Romance  tongues,  which  were  also  to  be 
impressed  upon  all  German  invaders.  Franks,  Burgundians, 


IO 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


or  Alemanni,  who  came  in  contact  with  the  provincials, 
began  to  be  affected  by  their  language,  their  religion,  their 
ways  of  living,  and  by  whatever  survival  of  letters  there 
was  among  them.  The  Romance  dialects  were  to  triumph, 
were  to  become  French;  and  in  the  earliest  extant  pieces 
of  this  vernacular  poetry,  the  effect  of  Latin  verse-forms 
appears.  Yet  Franks  and  Burgundians  were  not  Latinized 
in  spirit;  and,  in  truth,  the  Gauls  before  them  had  only 
become  good  imitation  Latins.  At  all  events,  from  these 
mixed  and  intermediate  conditions,  a people  were  to  emerge 
who  were  not  German,  nor  altogether  Latin,  in  spite  of 
their  Romance  speech.  Latin  culture  was  not  quite  as  a 
foreign  influence  upon  these  Gallo-Roman,  Teutonically  re- 
inspirited, incipient,  French.  Nor  were  they  born  and  bred 
to  it,  like  the  Italians.  The  antique  was  not  to  dominate 
the  French  genius;  it  was  not  to  stem  the  growth  of  what 
was,  so  to  speak,  Gothic  or  northern  or  Teutonic.  The 
glass-painting,  the  sculpture,  the  architecture  of  northern 
France  were  to  become  their  own  great  French  selves ; and 
while  the  literature  was  to  hold  to  forms  derived  from  the 
antique  and  the  Romanesque,  the  spirit  and  the  contents 
did  not  come  from  Italy. 

The  office  of  Latin  culture  in  Germany  and  England  was 
to  be  more  definite  and  limited.  Germany  had  never  been 
subdued  to  the  Roman  order ; in  Anglo-Saxon  England, 
Roman  civilization  had  been  effaced  by  the  Saxon  conquest, 
which,  like  the  Moorish  conquest  of  Spain,  was  most  com- 
plete in  those  parts  of  the  land  where  the  Roman  influence 
had  been  strongest.  In  neither  of  these  lands  was  there  any 
antique  atmosphere,  or  antique  pagan  substratum — save  as 
the  universal  human  soul  is  pagan ! Latinity  came  to 
Germans  and  Anglo-Saxons  as  a foreign  culture,  which  was 
not  to  pertain  to  all  men’s  daily  living.  It  was  matter  for 
the  educated,  for  the  clergy.  Its  vehicle  was  a formal 
language,  having  no  connection  with  the  vernacular.  And 
when  the  antique  culture  had  obtained  certain  resting-places 
in  England  and  Germany,  the  first  benign  labours  of  those 
Germans  or  Anglo-Saxons  who  had  mastered  the  language 
consisted  in  the  translation  of  edifying  Latin  matter  into 
their  own  tongues.  So  Latinity  in  England  and  Germany 


ch.  i GENESIS  OF  THE  MEDIAEVAL  GENIUS  n 


was  likely  to  remain  a distinguishable  influence.  The 
Anglo-Saxons  and  the  rest  in  England  were  to  become 
Englishmen,  the  Germans  were  to  remain  Germans ; nor  was 
either  race  ever  to  become  Latinized,  however  deeply  the 
educated  people  of  these  countries  might  imbibe  Latinity, 
and  exercise  their  intellects  upon  all  that  was  contained 
in  the  antique  metaphysics  and  natural  science,  literature 
and  law. 

Thus  diverse  were  the  situations  of  the  young  mediaeval 
peoples  with  respect  to  the  antique  store.  There  were  like 
differences  of  situation  in  regard  to  Latin  Christianity.  It 
had  been  formed  (from  some  points  of  view,  one  might  say, 
created)  by  the  civilized  peoples  of  the  Roman  Empire  who 
had  been  converted  in  the  course  of  the  original  diffusion  of 
the  Faith.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  product  of  the  conversion  of 
the  Roman  Empire,  and,  in  Italy  and  the  Latin  provinces, 
received  its  final  fashioning  and  temper  from  the  Latin 
Fathers.  So  from  the  Latin-speaking  portions  of  the 
Empire  came  the  system  which  was  to  be  presented  to  the 
Teutonic  heathen  peoples  of  the  north.  They  had  neither 
made  it  nor  grown  up  with  it.  It  was  brought  to  the 
Franks,  to  the  Anglo-Saxons,  and  to  the  Germans  east  of 
the  Rhine,  as  a new  and  foreign  faith.  And  the  import 
of  the  fact  that  it  was  introduced  to  them  as  an  authoritative 
religion  did  not  lessen  as  Christianity  became  a formative 
element  in  their  natures. 

One  may  say  that  an  attitude  of  humble  inferiority 
before  Christianity  and  Latin  culture  was  an  initial  condition 
of  mediaeval  development,  having  much  to  do  with  setting 
its  future  lines.  In  Italy,  men  looked  back  to  what  seemed 
even  as  a greater  ancestral  self,  while  in  the  minds  of  the 
northern  peoples  the  ancient  Empire  represented  all  know- 
ledge and  the  summit  of  human  greatness.  The  formulated 
and  ordered  Latin  Christianity  evoked  even  deeper  homage. 
Well  it  might,  since  besides  the  resistless  Gospel  (its  source 
of  life)  it  held  the  intelligence  and  the  organizing  power  of 
Rome,  which  had  passed  into  its  own  last  creation,  the 
Catholic  Church.  And  when  this  Christianity,  so  mighty 
in  itself  and  august  through  the  prestige  of  Rome,  was  pre- 
sented as  under  authority,  its  new  converts  might  well  be 


12 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


struck  with  awe.1  It  was  such  as  this  that  acknowledged 
the  claims  of  the  Roman  bishops,  and  made  possible  a Roman 
and  Catholic  Church — the  most  potent  unifying  influence 
of  the  Middle  Ages. 

Still  more  was  the  character  of  mediaeval  progress  set  by 
the  action  and  effect  of  these  two  forces.  The  Latin  culture 
provided  the  means  and  method  of  elementary  education,  as 
well  as  the  material  for  study;  while  Latin  Christianity, 
with  transforming  power,  worked  itself  into  the  souls  of 
the  young  mediaeval  peoples.  The  two  were  assuredly  the 
moulding  forces  of  all  mediaeval  development ; and  whatever 
sprang  to  life  beyond  the  range  of  their  action  was  not, 
properly  speaking,  mediaeval,  even  though  seeing  the  light  in 
the  twelfth  century.2  Yet  one  should  not  think  of  these  two 
great  influences  as  entities,  unchanging  and  utterly  distinct 
from  what  must  be  called  for  simplicity’s  sake  the  native 
traits  of  the  mediaeval  peoples.  The  antique  culture  had 
never  ceased  to  be  part  of  the  nature  and  faculties  of  Italians, 
and  to  some  extent  still  made  the  inherited  equipment  of 
the  Latinized  or  Latin-descended  people  of  Spain  and 
France.  In  the  same  lands  also,  Latin  Christianity  had 
attained  its  form.  And  even  in  England  and  Germany, 
Christianity  and  Latin  culture  would  be  distinct  from  the 
Teuton  folk  only  at  the  first  moment  of  presentation  and 


1 See  post,  Chapter  IX.,  as  to  the  manner  of  the  coming  of  Augustine  to  Eng- 
land. 

2 The  Icelandic  Sagas,  for  example,  were  then  brought  into  written  form. 
They  have  a genius  of  their  own;  they  are  realistic  and  without  a trace  of 
symbolism.  They  are  wonderful  expressions  of  the  people  among  whom  they 
were  composed.  Post,  Chapter  VIII.  But,  products  of  a remote  island,  they  were 
unaffected  by  the  moulding  forces  of  mediaeval  development,  nor  did  they  exert 
any  influence  in  turn.  The  native  traits  of  the  mediaeval  peoples  were  the  great 
complementary  factor  in  mediaeval  progress — complementary,  that  is  to  say,  to 
Latin  Christianity  and  antique  culture.  Mediaeval  characteristics  sprang  from  the 
interaction  of  these  elements;  they  certainly  did  not  spring  from  any  such  indepen- 
dent and  severed  growth  of  native  Teuton  quality  as  is  evinced  by  the  Sagas.  One 
will  look  far,  however,  for  another  instance  of  such  spiritual  aloofness.  For  clear 
as  are  the  different  racial  or  national  traits  throughout  the  mediaeval  period,  they 
constantly  appear  in  conjunction  with  other  elements.  They  are  discerned  work- 
ing beneath,  possibly  reacting  against,  and  always  affected  by,  the  genius  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  to  wit,  the  genius  of  the  mutual  interaction  of  the  whole.  Wolfram’s 
very  German  Parzival,  the  old  French  Chanson  de  Roland,  and  above  them  all 
the  Divina  Commedia,  are  mediaeval.  In  these  compositions  in  the  vernacular, 
racial  traits  manifest  themselves  distinctly,  and  yet  are  affected  by  the  mediaeval 
spirit. 


ch.i  GENESIS  OF  THE  MEDIAEVAL  GENIUS  13 


acceptance.  Thereupon  the  two  would  begin  to  enter  into 
and  affect  their  new  disciples,  and  would  themselves  change 
under  the  process  of  their  own  assimilation  by  these  Teutonic 
natures. 

Nevertheless,  the  Latin  Christianity  of  the  Fathers  and 
the  antique  fund  of  sentiment  and  knowledge,  through  their 
self-conserving  strength,  affected  men  in  constant  ways. 
Under  their  action  the  peoples  of  western  Europe,  from  the 
eighth  to  the  thirteenth  century,  passed  through  a homo- 
geneous growth,  and  evolved  a spirit  different  from  that  of 
any  other  period  of  history — a spirit  which  stood  in  awe 
before  its  monitors  divine  and  human,  and  deemed  that 
knowledge  was  to  be  drawn  from  the  storehouse  of  the  past ; 
which  seemed  to  rely  on  everything  except  its  sin-crushed 
self,  and  trusted  everything  except  its  senses;  which  in  the 
actual  looked  for  the  ideal,  in  the  concrete  saw  the  symbol, 
in  the  earthly  Church  beheld  the  heavenly,  and  in  fleshly 
joys  discerned  the  devil’s  lures;  which  lived  in  the  unrecon- 
ciled opposition  between  the  lust  and  vain-glory  of  earth 
and  the  attainment  of  salvation;  which  felt  life’s  terror  and 
its  pitifulness,  and  its  eternal  hope;  around  which  waved 
concrete  infinitudes,  and  over  which  flamed  the  terror  of 
darkness  and  the  Judgment  Day. 

II 

Under  the  action  of  Latin  Christianity  and  the  antique 
culture  the  mediaeval  genius  developed,  as  it  fused  the 
constituents  of  its  growth  into  temperament  and  power. 
It  was  not  its  destiny  to  produce  an  extension  of  knowl- 
edge or  originate  substantial  novelties  either  of  thought 
or  imaginative  conception.  Its  energies  were  rather  to 
expend  themselves  in  the  creation  of  new  forms — forms  of 
apprehending  and  presenting  what  was  (or  might  be)  known 
from  the  old  books,  and  all  that  from  century  to  century 
was  ever  more  plastically  felt.  This  principle  is  most 
important  for  the  true  appreciation  of  the  intellectual  and 
emotional  phenomena  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

When  a sublime  religion  is  offered  to  capable  but  half- 
civilized  peoples,  and  at  the  same  time  an  acquaintance 


14 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


is  opened  to  them  with  the  education,  the  knowledge,  the 
literature  of  a great  civilization,  they  cannot  create  new 
forms  or  presentations  of  what  they  have  received,  until  the 
same  has  been  assimilated,  and  has  become  plastic  in  their 
minds,  as  it  were,  part  of  their  faculty  and  feeling.  Mani- 
festly the  northern  peoples  could  not  at  once  transmute  the 
lofty  and  superabundant  matter  of  Latin  Christianity  and 
its  accompanying  Latin  culture,  and  present  the  same  in 
new  forms.  Nor  in  truth  could  Italy,  involved  as  she  was 
in  a disturbed  decadence,  wherein  she  seemed  to  be  receding 
from  an  understanding  of  the  nobler  portions  of  her  antique 
and  Christian  heritage,  rather  than  progressing  toward  a 
vital  use  of  one  or  the  other.  In  Spain  and  France  there 
was  some  decadence  among  Latinized  provincials ; and  the 
Teutonic  conquerors  were  novices  in  both  Christianity  and 
Latinity.  In  these  lands  neither  decadence  nor  the  novelty 
of  the  matter  was  the  sole  embarrassment,  but  both  com- 
bined to  hinder  creativeness,  although  the  decadence  was 
less  obvious  than  in  Italy,  and  the  newness  of  the  matter 
less  utter  than  in  Germany. 

The  ancient  material  was  appropriated,  and  then  re- 
expressed in  new  forms,  through  two  general  ways  of 
transmutation,  the  intellectual  and  the  emotional.  Al- 
though patently  distinguishable,  these  would  usually  work 
together,  with  one  or  the  other  dominating  the  joint 
progress. 

Of  the  two,  the  intellectual  is  the  easier  to  analyze. 
Thinking  is  necessarily  dependent  on  the  thinker,  although 
it  appear  less  intimately  part  of  him  than  his  emotions,  and 
less  expressive  of  his  character.  Accordingly,  the  mediaeval 
genius  shows  somewhat  more  palely  in  its  intellectual  pro- 
ductions, than  in  the  more  emotional  phases  of  literature  and 
art.  Yet  the  former  exemplify  not  only  mediaeval  capacities, 
but  also  the  mediaeval  intellectual  temperament,  or,  as  it 
were,  the  synthetic  predisposition  of  the  mediaeval  mind. 
This  temperament,  this  intellectual  predisposition,  became  in 
general  more  marked  through  the  centuries  from  the  ninth 
to  the  twelfth.  People  could  not  go  on  generation  after 
generation  occupied  with  like  topics  of  intellectual  interest, 
reasoning  upon  them  along  certain  lines  of  religious  and 


ch.i  GENESIS  OF  THE  MEDIAEVAL  GENIUS  15 


ethical  suggestion,  without  developing  or  intensifying  some 
general  type  of  intellectual  temper. 

From  the  Carolingian  period  onward,  the  men  interested 
in  knowledge  learned  the  patristic  theology,  and,  in  gradually 
expanding  compass,  acquired  antique  logic  and  metaphysics, 
mathematics,  natural  science  and  jurisprudence.  What  they 
learned,  they  laboured  to  restate  or  expound.  With  each 
succeeding  generation,  the  subjects  of  mediaeval  study  were 
made  more  closely  part  of  the  intelligence  occupied  with 
them ; because  the  matter  had  been  considered  for  a longer 
time,  and  had  been  constantly  restated  and  restudied  in 
terms  more  nearly  adapted  to  the  comprehension  of  the  men 
who  were  learning  and  restating  it.  At  length  mediaeval 
men  made  the  antique  and  patristic  material,  or  rather  their 
understanding  of  it,  dynamically  their  own.  Their  com- 
prehension of  it  became  part  of  their  intellectual  faculties, 
they  could  think  for  themselves  in  its  terms,  think  almost 
originally  and  creatively,  and  could  present  as  their  own  the 
matter  of  their  thoughts  in  restatements,  that  is,  in  forms 
essentially  new. 

From  century  to  century  may  be  traced  the  process  of 
restatement  of  patristic  Christianity,  with  the  antique 
material  contained  in  it.  The  Christianity  of  the  fifth 
century  contained  an  amplitude  of  thought  and  learning. 
To  the  creative  work  of  earlier  and  chiefly  eastern  men,  the 
Latin  intellect  finally  incorporate  in  Ambrose,  Jerome,  and 
Augustine  had  added  its  further  great  accomplishment  and 
ordering.  The  sum  of  dogma  was  well-nigh  made  up ; the 
Trinity  was  established;  Christian  learning  had  reached  a 
compass  beyond  which  it  was  not  to  pass  for  the  next 
thousand  years ; the  doctrines  as  to  the  “ sacred  mysteries,  ” 
as  to  the  functions  of  the  Church  and  its  spiritual  authority, 
existed  in  substance ; the  principles  of  symbolism  and 
allegory  had  been  set ; the  great  mass  of  allegorical  Scriptural 
interpretations  had  been  devised ; the  spiritual  relationship 
of  man  to  God’s  ordainment,  to  wit,  the  part  to  be  played 
by  the  human  will  in  man’s  salvation  or  damnation,  had 
been  reasoned  out;  and  man’s  need  and  love  of  God,  his 
nothingness  apart  from  the  Source  and  King  and  End  of 
Life,  had  been  uttered  in  words  which  men  still  use.  Evi- 


i6 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


dently  succeeding  generations  of  less  illumination  could  not 
add  to  this  vast  intellectual  creation;  much  indeed  had  to 
be  done  before  they  could  comprehend  and  make  it  theirs, 
so  as  to  use  it  as  an  element  of  their  own  thinking,  or  possess 
it  as  an  inspiration  of  passionate,  imaginative  reverie. 

At  the  darkening  close  of  the  patristic  period,  Gregory 
the  Great  was  still  partially  creative  in  his  barbarizing 
handling  of  patristic  themes.1  After  his  death,  for  some 
three  centuries,  theologians  were  to  devote  themselves  to 
mastering  the  great  heritage  from  the  Church  Fathers.  It 
was  still  a time  of  racial  antipathy  and  conflict.  The 
disparate  elements  of  the  mediaeval  personality  were  as  yet 
unblended.  How  could  the  unformed  intellect  of  such  a 
period  grasp  the  patristic  store  of  thought?  Still  less 
might  this  wavering  human  spirit,  uncertain  of  itself  and 
unadjusted  to  novel  and  great  conceptions,  transform,  and 
so  renew,  them  with  fresh  life.  Scarcely  any  proper  re- 
casting of  patristic  doctrine  will  be  found  in  the  Carolingian 
period,  but  merely  a shuffling  of  the  matter.  There  were 
some  exceptions,  arising,  as  in  the  case  of  Eriugena,  from 
the  extraordinary  genius  of  this  thinker ; or  again  from 
the  narrow  controversial  treatment  of  a matter  argued  with 
rupturing  detachment  of  patristic  opinions  from  their 
setting  and  balancing  qualifications.2  But  the  typical 
works  of  the  eighth  and  ninth  centuries  were  commentaries 
upon  Scripture,  consisting  chiefly  of  excerpts  from  the 
Fathers.  The  flower  of  them  all  was  the  compendious 
Glossa  Or  dinar  ia  of  Walafrid  Strabo,  a pupil  of  the  volumi- 
nous commentator  Rabanus  Maurus.3 

Through  the  tenth  and  eleventh  centuries,  one  finds  no 
great  advance  in  the  systematic  restatement  of  Christian 
doctrine.4  Nevertheless,  two  hundred  years  of  devotion 
have  been  put  upon  it;  and  statements  of  parts  of  it  occur, 
showing  that  the  eleventh  century  has  made  progress  over 

1 See  post,  Chapter  V. 

2 The  Predestination  and  Eucharistic  controversies  are  examples ; post , Chap- 
ter X. 

8 See  post,  Chapter  X. 

4 The  lack  of  originality  in  the  first  half  of  the  tenth  century  is  illustrated  by 
the  Epitome  of  Gregory’s  M or  alia,  made  by  such  an  energetic  person  as  Odo  of 
Cluny.  It  occupies  four  hundred  columns  in  Migne’s  Patrologia  Latina,  133. 
See  post,  Chapter  XII. 


ch.  i GENESIS  OF  THE  MEDIAEVAL  GENIUS  17 


the  ninth  in  its  thoughtful  and  vital  appropriation  of  Latin 
Christianity.  A man  like  German  Othloh  has  thought  for 
himself  within  its  lines ; 1 Anselm  of  Canterbury  has  set 
forth  pieces  of  it  with  a depth  of  reflection  and  intimacy  of 
understanding  which  make  his  works  creative ; 2 Peter 
Damiani  through  intensity  of  feeling  has  become  the 
embodiment  of  Christian  asceticism  and  the  grace  of  Chris- 
tian tears ; 3 and  Hildebrand  has  established  the  mediaeval 
papal  church.  Of  a truth,  the  mediaeval  man  was  adjusting 
himself,  and  reaching  his  understanding  of  what  the  past  had 
given  him. 

The  twelfth  century  presents  a universal  progress  in 
philosophic  and  theological  thinking.  It  is  the  century  of 
Abaelard,  of  Hugo  of  St.  Victor  and  St.  Bernard,  and  of 
Peter  Lombard.  The  first  of  these  penetrates  into  the 
logical  premises  of  systematic  thought  as  no  mediaeval  man 
had  done  before  him;  St.  Bernard  moves  the  world  through 
his  emotional  and  political  comprehension  of  the  Faith; 
Hugo  of  St.  Victor  offers  a sacramental  explanation  of  the 
universe  and  man,  based  upon  symbolism  as  the  working 
principle  of  creation;  and  Peter  Lombard  makes,  or,  at 
least,  typifies,  the  systematic  advance,  from  the  Commentary 
to  the  Books  of  Sentences , in  which  he  presents  patristic 
doctrine  arranged  according  to  the  cardinal  topics  of  the 
Christian  scheme.  Here  Abaelard’s  Sic  et  non  had  been  a 
precursor  rather  carping  in  its  excessive  clear-sightedness. 

Thus,  as  a rule,  each  successive  mediaeval  period  shows 
a more  organic  restatement  of  the  old  material.  Yet  this 
principle  may  be  impeded  or  deflected,  in  its  exemplifications, 
by  social  turmoil  and  disaster,  or  even  by  the  use  of  further 
antique  matter,  demanding  assimilation.  For  example, 
upon  the  introduction  of  the  complete  works  of  Aristotle  in 
the  thirteenth  century,  an  enormous  intellectual  effort  was 
required  for  the  mastery  of  their  contents.  They  were  not 
mastered  at  once,  or  by  all  people  who  studied  the  philos- 
opher. So  the  works  of  Hugo  of  St.  Victor,  of  the  first 
half  of  the  twelfth  century,  are  more  original  in  their  organic 
restatement  of  less  vast  material  than  are  the  works  of 

1 Sea  post , Chapter  XIII.  2 See  post,  Chapter  XI. 

3 See  post,  Chapter  XVII. 


VOL.  I 


C 


i8 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


Albertus  Magnus,  Aristotle’s  prodigious  expounder,  one 
hundred  years  later.  But  Thomas  Aquinas  accomplishes 
a final  Catholic  presentation  of  the  whole  enlarged  material, 
patristic  and  antique.1 

One  may  perceive  three  stages  in  this  chief  phase  of 
mediaeval  intellectual  progress  consisting  in  the  appropria- 
tion of  Latin  Christianity : its  first  conning,  its  more  vital 
appropriation,  its  re-expression,  with  added  elements  of 
thought.  There  were  also  three  stages  in  the  evolution  of 
the  outer  forms  of  this  same  catholic  mastery  and  re-expres- 
sion of  doctrine : first,  the  Scriptural  Commentary ; secondly, 
the  Books  of  Sentences;  and  thirdly,  the  Summa  Theologiae , 
of  which  Thomas  Aquinas  is  the  final  definitive  creator. 
The  philosophical  material  used  in  its  making  was  the  sub- 
stantial philosophy  of  Aristotle,  mastered  at  length  by  this 
Christian  Titan  of  the  thirteenth  century.  In  the  Summa , 
regarded  visibly,  as  well  as  more  inwardly  and  essentially 
considered,  the  Latin  Christianity  of  the  Fathers  received  an 
organically  new  form. 

Quite  as  impressive,  more  moving,  and  possibly  more 
creative,  than  the  intellectual  recasting  of  the  ancient 
patristic  matter,  were  its  emotional  transformations.  The 
sequence  and  character  of  mediaeval  development  is  clearly 
seen  in  the  evolution  of  new  forms  of  emotional,  and  especially 
of  poetic  and  plastic,  expression.  The  intellectual  transfor- 
mation of  the  antique  and  more  especially  the  patristic 
matter,  was  accompanied  by  currents  of  desire  and  aversion 
running  with  increasing  definiteness  and  power.  As  patristic 
thought  became  more  organically  mediaeval,  more  intrinsi- 
cally part  of  the  intellectual  faculties  of  men,  it  constituted 
with  increasing  incisiveness  the  suggestion  and  the  rationale 
of  emotional  experiences,  and  set  the  lines  accordingly  of 
impassioned  expression  in  devotional  prose  and  verse,  and 
in  the  more  serious  forms  of  art.  Patristic  theology,  the 
authoritative  statement  of  the  Christian  faith,  contained 
men’s  furthest  hopes  and  deepest  fears  set  forth  together 
with  the  divine  Means  by  which  those  might  be  realized  and 
these  allayed.  As  generation  after  generation  clung  to  this 
system  as  to  the  stay  of  their  salvation,  the  intellectual 

1 These  men  will  be  fully  considered  later.  Chapters  XXXV.-XLI. 


ch.  i GENESIS  OF  THE  MEDIAEVAL  GENIUS  19 


consideration  of  it  became  instinct  with  the  emotions  of 
desire  and  aversion,  and  with  love  and  gratitude  toward  the 
suffering  means  and  instruments  which  made  salvation 
possible — the  Crucified,  the  Weeping  Mother,  and  the 
martyred  or  self-torturing  saints.  All  these  had  suffered; 
they  were  sublime  objects  for  human  compassion.  Who 
could  think  upon  them  without  tears  ? Thus  mediaeval 
religious  thought  became  a well  of  emotion. 

Emotion  breaks  its  way  to  expression ; it  feeds  itself 
upon  its  expression,  thereby  increasing  in  resistlessness ; 
it  even  becomes  identical  with  its  expression.  Surely  it 
creates  the  modes  of  its  expression,  seeking  continually 
the  more  facile,  the  more  unimpeded,  which  is  to  say,  the 
adequate  and  perfect  form.  Typical  mediaeval  emotion, 
which  was  religious,  cast  itself  around  the  Gospel  of  Christ 
and  the  theology  of  the  Fathers  as  studied  and  pondered  on 
in  the  mediaeval  centuries.  Seeking  fitting  forms  of  expres- 
sion, which  are  at  once  modes  of  relief  and  forms  of  added 
power,  the  passionate  energy  of  the  mediaeval  genius  con- 
strained the  intellectual  faculties  to  unite  with  it  in  the 
production  of  these  forms.  They  were  to  become  more 
personal  and  original  than  any  mere  scholastic  restatement 
of  the  patristic  and  antique  thought.  Yet  the  perfect  form 
of  the  emotional  expression  was  not  quickly  reached.  It 
could  not  outrun  the  intelligent  appropriation  of  Latin 
Christianity.  Its  media,  moreover,  as  in  the  case  of  sculp- 
ture, might  present  retarding  difficulties  to  be  overcome 
before  that  means  of  presentation  could  be  mastered.  A 
sequence  may  be  observed  in  the  evolution  of  the  forms  of 
the  mediaeval  emotional  expression  of  patristic  Christianity. 
One  of  the  first  attained  was  impassioned  devotional  Latin 
prose,  like  that  of  Peter  Damiani  or  St.  Anselm  of  Canter- 
bury.1 But  prose  is  a halting  means  of  emotional  expression. 
It  is  too  circumstantial  and  too  slow.  Only  in  the  chanted 
strophe,  winged  with  the  power  of  rhythm,  can  emotion  pour 
out  its  unimpeded  strength.  But  before  the  thought  can  be 
fused  in  verse,  it  must  be  plastic,  molten  indeed.  Even  then, 
the  finished  verse  is  not  produced  at  once.  The  perfected 
mediaeval  Latin  strophe  was  a final  form  of  religious 

1 See  post,  Chapter  XXXII. 


20 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


emotional  expression,  which  was  not  attained  until  the 
twelfth  century.1 

Impassioned  prose  may  be  art ; the  loftier  forms  of  verse 
are  surely  art.  And  art  is  not  spontaneous,  but  carefully 
intended;  no  babbling  of  a child,  but  a mutual  fitting  of 
form  and  content,  in  which  efficient  unison  the  artists  intel- 
lect has  worked.  Such  intellectual,  such  artistic  endeavour, 
was  evinced  in  the  long  development  of  mediaeval  plastic  art. 
The  sculpture  and  the  painted  glass,  which  tell  the  Christian 
story  in  Chartres  Cathedral,  set  forth  the  patristic  and  antique 
matter  in  forms  expressive  of  the  feeling  and  emotion  which 
had  gathered  around  the  scheme  of  Latin  Christianity. 
They  were  forms  never  to  be  outdone  for  appropriateness 
and  power.  Several  centuries  not  only  of  spiritual  growth, 
but  of  mechanical  and  artistic  effort,  had  been  needed  for 
their  perfecting. 

In  these  and  like  emotional  recastings,  or  indeed 
creations,  patristic  and  antique  elements  were  transformed 
and  transfigured.  And  again,  in  fields  non-religious  and  non- 
philosophical,  through  the  evolution  of  the  mediaeval  mind 
and  heart,  novelties  of  sentiment  and  situation  were  intro- 
duced into  antique  themes  of  fiction ; new  forms  of  romance, 
new  phases  of  human  love  and  devotion  were  evolved,  in 
which  (witness  the  poetry  of  chivalric  love  in  Provencal 
and  Old  French)  the  energies  of  intellect  and  passion  were 
curiously  blended.2  These  represented  a side  of  human 
growth  not  unrelated  to  the  supreme  mediaeval  achievement, 
the  vital  appropriation  and  emotional  humanizing  of 
patristic  Christianity.  For  that  carried  an  impassioning 
of  its  teachings  with  love  and  tears,  a fostering  of  them  with 
devotion,  an  adorning  of  them  with  quivering  fantasies,  a 
translation  of  them  into  art,  into  poetry,  into  romance. 
With  what  wealth  of  love  and  terror,  with  what  grandeur 
of  imagination,  with  what  power  of  mystery  and  symbolism, 
did  the  Middle  Ages  glorify  their  heritage,  turning  its 
precepts  into  spirit. 

Of  a surety  the  emotional  is  not  to  be  separated  from  the 
intellectual  recasting  of  Christianity.  The  greatest  ex- 
ponents of  the  one  had  their  share  in  the  other.  Hugo  of  St. 

1 See  post , Chapter  XXXIII.  2 Post,  Chapter  XXIV. 


qh.  i GENESIS  OF  THE  MEDIAEVAL  GENIUS  21 

Victor  as  well  as  St.  Bernard  were  mighty  agents  of  this 
spiritually  passionate  mode  of  apprehending  Latin  Chris- 
tianity and  transfusing  it  with  emotion,  or  reviving  the 
Gospel  elements  in  it.  Here  work,  knowingly  or  instinctively, 
many  men  and  women,  Peter  Damiani  and  St.  Francis  of 
Assisi,  St.  Hildegarde  of  Bingen  and  Mechthilde  of  Magde- 
burg, who,  according  to  their  diverse  temperaments, 
overmasteringly  and  burningly  loved  Christ.  With  them 
the  intellectual  appropriation  of  dogmatic  Christianity  was 
subordinate. 

Such  men  and  women  were  poets  and  artists,  even  when 
they  wrote  no  poetry,  and  did  not  carve  or  paint.  For  their 
lives  were  poems,  unisons  of  overmastering  thoughts  and  the 
emotions  inspired  by  them.  The  life  of  Francis  was  a living 
poem.  It  was  kin  to  the  Dies  Irae,  the  Stabat  Mater , the 
hymns  of  Adam  of  St.  Victor,  and  in  a later  time,  the 
Divina  Commedia.  For  all  these  poems,  in  their  different 
ways,  using  Christian  thought  and  feeling  as  symbols,  created 
imaginative  presentations  of  universal  human  moods,  even 
as  the  lives  of  Francis  and  many  a cloistered  soul  presented 
like  moods  in  visible  embodiment. 

Such  lives  likewise  close  in  with  art.  They  poured 
themselves  around  the  symbols  of  the  human  person  of 
Christ  and  its  sacrificial  presence  in  the  Eucharist;  they 
grasped  the  infinite  and  universal  through  these  tangibilities. 
But  the  poems  also  sprang  into  being  through  a concrete 
realizing  in  mood,  and  a visualizing  in  narrative,  of  such 
symbols.  And  the  same  need  of  grasping  the  infinite  and 
universal  through  symbols  was  the  inspiration  of  mediaeval 
art : it  built  the  cathedrals,  painted  their  windows,  filled 
their  niches  with  statues,  carving  prophet  types,  carving  the 
times  and  seasons  of  God’s  providence,  carving  the  vices  and 
virtues  of  the  soul  and  its  eternal  destiny,  and  at  the  same 
time  augmenting  the  Liturgy  with  symbolic  words  and  acts. 
So  saint  and  poet  and  artist-craftsman  join  in  that  appro- 
priation of  Christianity  which  was  vivifying  whatever  had 
come  from  the  Latin  Fathers,  by  pondering  upon  it,  loving 
it,  living  it,  imagining  it,  and  making  it  into  poetry  and  art. 

It  is  better  not  to  generalize  further,  or  attempt  more 
specifically  to  characterize  the  mediaeval  genius.  As  its 


22 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


manifestations  pass  before  our  consideration,  we  shall  see 
the  complexity  of  thought  and  life  within  the  interplay  of 
the  moulding  forces  of  mediaeval  development,  as  they 
strove  with  each  other  or  wrought  in  harmony,  as  they  were 
displayed  in  frightful  contrasts  between  the  brutalities  of  life 
and  the  lofty,  but  not  less  real,  strainings  of  the  spirit,  or 
again  in  the  opposition  between  inchoately  variant  ideals 
and  the  endeavour  for  their  more  inclusive  reconcilement. 
Various  phases  of  the  mediaeval  spirit  were  to  unfold  only 
too  diversely  with  popes,  kings,  and  knights,  monks,  nuns, 
and  heretics,  satirists,  troubadours  and  minnesingers ; in 
emotional  yearnings  and  intellectual  ideals ; in  the  literature 
of  love  and  the  literature  of  its  suppression;  in  mistress- 
worship,  and  the  worship  of  the  Virgin  and  the  passion- 
flooded  Christ  of  Canticles.  Sublimely  will  this  spirit  show 
itself  in  the  resistless  apotheosis  of  symbolism,  and  in  art 
and  poetry  giving  utterance  to  the  mediaeval  conceptions  of 
order  and  beauty.  Other  of  its  phases  will  be  evinced  in 
the  striving  of  earnest  souls  for  spiritual  certitude;  in  the 
scholastic  structure  and  accomplishment;  in  the  ways  in 
which  men  felt  the  spell  of  the  Classics;  and  everywhere 
and  universally  in  the  mediaeval  conflict  between  life’s 
fulness  and  the  insistency  of  the  soul’s  salvation. 


CHAPTER  II 


THE  LATINIZING  OF  THE  WEST 

The  intellectual  and  spiritual  life  of  the  partly  Hellenized, 
and  at  last  Christianized,  Roman  Empire  furnished  the 
contents  of  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  development  of  the 
Middle  Ages.1  In  Latin  forms  the  Christian  and  antique 
elements  passed  to  the  mediaeval  period.  Their  Latiniza- 
tion,  their  continuance,  and  their  passing  on,  were  due  to 
the  existence  of  the  Empire  as  a political  and  social  fact. 
Rome’s  equal  government  facilitated  the  transmission  of 
Greek  thought  through  the  Mediterranean  west;  Roman 
arms,  Roman  qualities  conquered  Spain  and  Gaul,  subdued 
them  to  the  Roman  order,  opened  them  to  Graeco-Latin 
influences,  also  to  Christianity.  Indelibly  Latinized  in 
language  and  temper,  Spain,  Gaul,  and  Italy  present  first  a 
homogeneity  of  culture  and  civic  order,  and  then  a common 
decadence  and  confusion.  But  decadence  and  confusion  did 
not  obliterate  the  ancient  elements ; which  painfully  endured, 
passing  down  disfigured  and  bedimmed,  to  form  the  basis 
of  mediaeval  culture. 

The  all-important  Latinization  of  western  Europe  began 
with  the  unification  of  Italy  and  Rome.  This  took  five 
centuries  of  war.  In  central  Italy,  Marsians,  Samnites, 
Umbrians,  Etruscans,  were  slowly  conquered;  and  in  the 
south  Rome  stood  forth  at  last  triumphant  after  the  war 
against  Tarentum  and  Pyrrhus  of  Epirus.  With  Rome’s 
political  domination,  the  Latin  language  also  won  its  way 
to  supremacy  throughout  the  peninsula,  being  drasti- 

1 The  term  “ spiritual  ” is  here  intended  to  signify  the  activities  of  the  mind 
which  are  emotionalized  with  yearning  or  aversion,  and  therefore  may  be  said  to  belong 
to  the  entire  nature  of  man. 


23 


24 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


cally  forced,  along  with  Roman  civic  institutions,  upon 
Tarentum  and  the  other  Greek  communities  of  Magna 
Graecia.1  Yet  in  revenge,  from  this  time  on,  Greek  medicine 
and  manners,  mythology,  art,  poetry,  philosophy — Greek 
thought  in  every  guise — entered  the  Latin  pale. 

At  the  time  of  which  we  speak,  the  third  century  before 
Christ,  the  northern  boundaries  of  Italy  were  still  the 
rivers  Arno  and,  to  the  east,  the  Aesis,  which  flows  into 
the  Adriatic,  near  Ancona.  North-west  of  the  Arno, 
Ligurian  highlanders  held  the  mountain  lands  as  far  as 
Nice.  North  of  the  Aesis  lay  the  valley  of  the  Po.  That 
great  plain  may  have  been  occupied  at  an  early  time  by 
Etruscan  communities  scattered  through  a Celtic  population 
gradually  settling  to  an  agricultural  life.  Whatever  may  be 
the  facts  as  to  the  existence  of  these  earlier  Celts,  other  and 
ruder  Celtic  tribes  swarmed  down  from  the  Alps  2 about  400 
b.c.,  spread  through  the  Po  Valley,  pushing  the  Etruscans 
back  into  Etruria,  and  following  them  there  to  carry  on  the 
war.  After  this  comes  the  well-known  story  of  Roman 
interference,  leading  to  Roman  overthrow  at  the  river  Allia 
in  390,  and  the  capture  of  the  city  by  these  “Gauls.”  The 
latter  then  retired  northward,  to  occupy  the  Po  Valley; 
though  bands  of  them  settled  as  far  south  as  the  Aesis. 

Time  and  again,  Rome  was  to  be  reminded  of  the  Celtic 
peril.  Between  the  first  and  second  Punic  wars,  the  Celts, 
reinforced  from  beyond  the  Alps,  attacked  Etruria  and 
threatened  Rome.  Defeating  them,  the  Consuls  pushed 
north  to  subdue  the  Po  Valley  (222  b.c.).  South  of  the 
river  the  Celts  were  expelled,  and  their  place  was  filled  by 
Roman  colonists.  The  fortress  cities  of  Placentia  (Piacenza) 
and  Cremona  were  founded  on  the  right  and  left  banks  of 
the  Po,  and  south-east  of  them  Mutina  (Modena).  The 

1 The  history  of  the  spread  of  Latin  through  Italy  and  the  provinces  is  from 
the  nature  of  the  subject  obscure.  Budinsky’s  Die  Ausbreitung  der  lateinischer  Sprache 
(Berlin,  1881)  is  somewhat  unsatisfactory.  See  also  Meyer-Liibke,  Die  lateinische 
Sprache  in  den  romanischen  Ldndern  (Grober’s  Grundriss,  i2,  451  sqq.;  F.  G.  Mohl, 
Introduction  d la  chronologie  du  latin  vulgaire  (1899).  The  statements  in  the  text 
are  very  general,  and  ignore  intentionally  the  many  difficult  questions  as  to  what 
sort  of  Latin — dialectal,  popular,  or  literary — was  spread  through  the  peninsula. 
See  Mohl,  o.c.  § 33  sqq. 

2 Tradition  says  from  Gaul,  but  the  sifted  evidence  points  to  the  Danube  north 
of  the  later  province  of  Noricum.  See  Bertrand  and  Reinach,  Les  Celtes  dans  les 
vallees  du  Po  et  du  Danube  (Paris,  1894). 


CHAP.  II 


LATINIZING  OF  THE  WEST 


25 


Flaminian  road  was  extended  across  the  Apennines  to 
Fanum,  and  thence  to  Ariminum  (Rimini),  thus  connecting 
the  two  Italian  seas. 

Hannibal’s  invasion  of  Italy  brought  fresh  disturbance, 
and  when  the  war  with  him  was  over,  Rome  set  herself  to 
the  final  subjugation  of  the  Celts  north  of  the  Po.  Upon 
their  submission  the  Latinization  of  the  whole  valley  began, 
and  advanced  apace;  but  the  evidence  is  scanty.  Statius 
Caecilius,  a comic  Latin  poet,  was  a manumitted  Insubrian 
Celt  who  had  been  brought  to  Rome  probably  as  a prisoner 
of  war.  He  died  in  168  b.c.  Some  generations  after  him, 
Cornelius  Nepos  was  born  in  upper  Italy,  and  Catullus  at 
Verona;  Celtic  blood  may  have  flowed  in  their  veins.  In 
the  meanwhile  the  whole  region  had  been  organized  as 
Gallia  Cisalpina,  with  its  southern  boundary  fixed  at  the 
Rubicon,  which  flows  near  Rimini. 

The  Celts  of  northern  Italy  were  the  first  palpably  non- 
Italian  people  to  adopt  the  Latin  language.  Second  in  time 
and  thoroughness  to  their  Latinization  was  that  of  Spain. 
Military  reasons  led  to  its  conquest.  Hamilcar’s  genius  had 
created  there  a Carthaginian  power,  as  a base  for  the  invasion 
of  Italy.  This  project,  accomplished  by  Hamilcar’s  son, 
brought  home  to  the  Roman  Senate  the  need  to  control  the 
Spanish  peninsula.  The  expulsion  of  the  Carthaginians, 
which  followed,  did  not  give  mastery  over  the  land ; and 
two  centuries  of  Roman  persistence  were  required  to  subdue 
the  indomitable  Iberians. 

So,  in  the  end,  Spain  was  conquered,  and  became  a 
Latin  country.  Its  tribal  cantons  were  replaced  with  urban 
communities,  and  many  Roman  colonies  were  founded,  to 
grow  to  prosperous  cities.  These  were  strongholds  of  Latin. 
Cordova  became  a very  famous  home  of  education  and 
letters.  Apparently  the  southern  Spaniards  had  fully 
adopted  the  ways  and  speech  of  Rome  before  Strabo  wrote 
his  Geography , about  a.d.  20.  The  change  was  slower  in  the 
mountains  of  Asturia,  but  quite  rapid  in  the  north-eastern 
region  known  as  Nearer  Spain,  Hispania  Citerior,  as  it  was 
called.  There,  at  the  town  of  Osca  (Huesca),  Sertorius 
eighty  years  before  Christ  had  established  the  first  Latin 
school  for  the  native  Spanish  youth. 


26 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


The  reign  of  Augustus,  and  especially  his  two  years’ 
sojourn  in  Spain  (26  and  25  b.c.),  brought  quiet  to  the 
peninsula,  and  thereafter  no  part  of  the  Empire  enjoyed 
such  unbroken  peace.  Of  all  lands  outside  of  Italy,  with 
the  possible  exception  of  Provincia,  Spain  became  most 
completely  Roman  in  its  institutions,  and  most  unequivo- 
cally Latin  in  its  culture.  It  was  the  most  populous  of  the 
European  provinces ; 1 and  no  other  held  so  many  Roman 
citizens,  or  so  many  cities  early  endowed  with  Roman  civic 
rights.2  The  great  Augustan  literature  was  the  work  of 
natives  of  Italy.3  But  in  the  Silver  Age  that  followed,  many 
of  the  chief  Latin  authors — the  elder  and  younger  Seneca, 
Lucan,  Quintilian — were  Spaniards.  They  were  unquestioned 
representatives  of  Latin  literature,  with  no  provincial  twang 
in  their  writings.  Then,  of  Rome’s  emperors,  Trajan  was 
born  in  Spain,  and  Hadrian  and  Marcus  Aurelius  were  of 
Spanish  blood. 

Perhaps  even  more  completely  Latinized  was  Narbonensis, 
commonly  called  Provincia.  Its  official  name  was  drawn 
from  the  ancient  town  of  Narbo  (Narbonne),  which  in  118 
B.c.  was  refounded  as  a Roman  colony  in  partial  accomplish- 
ment of  the  plans  of  Caius  Gracchus.  The  boundaries  of 
this  colony  touched  those  of  the  Greek  city-state  Massilia 
(Marseilles),  whose  rights  were  respected  until  it  sided  against 
Caesar  in  the  Civil  War.  Save  for  the  Massilian  territory, 
which  it  later  included,  Provincia  stretched  from  the  eastern 
Pyrenees  by  the  way  of  Nemausus  (Nimes)  and  the  Arelate 
(Arles)  north-easterly  through  the  Rhone  Valley,  taking  in 
Vienne  and  Valence  in  the  country  of  the  Allobroges,  and 
then  onward  to  the  edge  of  Lake  Geneva ; thence  southerly 
along  the  Maritime  Alps  to  the  sea.  Many  of  its  towns 
owed  their  prosperity  to  Caesar.  In  his  time  the  country 
west  of  the  Rhone  was  already  half  Latin,  and  was  filling 

1 See  Beloch,  Bevolkerung  der  griechisch-romischen  Welt,  p.  507  (Leipzig, 
1 886). 

2 Mommsen  says  that  in  Augustus’s  time  fifty  Spanish  cities  had  the  full  priv- 
ileges of  Roman  citizenship  and  fifty  others  the  rights  of  Italian  towns  ( Roman 
Provinces,  i.  75,  Eng.  trans.).  But  this  seems  a mistake;  as  the  enumeration  of 
Beloch,  Bevolkerung,  etc.,  p.  330,  gives  fifty  in  all,  following  the  account  of 
Pliny. 

3 Cicero,  Pro  Archia,  10,  speaks  slightingly  of  poets  born  at  Cordova,  but  later, 
Latro  of  Cordova  was  Ovid’s  teacher. 


CHAP.  II 


LATINIZING  OF  THE  WEST 


27 


up  with  men  from  Italy.1  Two  or  three  generations  later, 
Pliny  dubbed  it  Italia  verius  quam  provincia.  At  all  events, 
like  northern  Italy  and  Spain,  Provincia,  throughout  its 
length  and  breadth,  had  appropriated  the  Latin  civilization 
of  Rome;  that  civilization  city-born  and  city-reared,  solvent 
of  cantonal  organization  and  tribal  custom,  destructive  of 
former  ways  of  living  and  standards  of  conduct ; a civiliza- 
tion which  was  commercial  as  well  as  military  in  its  means, 
and  urban  in  its  ends ; which  loved  the  life  of  the  forum,  the 
theatre,  the  circus,  the  public  bath,  and  seemed  to  gain  its 
finest  essence  from  the  instruction  of  the  grammarian  and 
rhetorician.  The  language  and  literature  of  this  civilization 
were  those  of  an  imperial  city,  and  were  to  be  the  language 
and  literature  of  the  Latin  city  universal,  in  whatever  western 
land  its  walls  might  rise. 

North  of  Provincia  stretched  the  great  territory  reaching 
from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Rhine,  and  with  its  edges  following 
that  river  northerly,  and  again  westerly  to  the  sea.  This 
was  Caesar’s  conquest,  his  omnis  Gallia.  The  resistlessness 
of  Rome,  her  civic  and  military  superiority  over  the  western 
peoples  whom  she  conquered,  may  be  grasped  from  the 
record  of  Gallic  subjugation  by  one  in  whom  great  Roman 
qualities  were  united.  Perhaps  the  deepest  impression 
received  by  the  reader  of  those  Commentaries  is  of  the  man 
behind  the  book,  Caesar  himself.  The  Gallic  War  passes 
before  us  as  a presentation,  or  medium  of  realization,  of  that 
all-compelling  personality,  with  whom  to  consider  was  to 
plan,  and  to  resolve  was  to  accomplish,  without  hesitation  or 
fear,  by  the  force  of  mind.  It  is  in  the  mirror  of  this  man’s 
contempt  for  restless  irresolution,  for  unsteadiness  and 
impotence,  that  Gallic  qualities  are  shown,  the  reflection 
undisturbed  either  by  intolerance  or  sympathy.  The  Gauls 
were  always  anxious  for  change,  mobiliter  celeriterque  in- 
flamed to  war  or  revolution,  says  Caesar  in  his  memorable 
words ; and,  like  all  men,  they  were  by  nature  zealous  for 
liberty,  hating  the  servile  state — so  it  behoved  Caesar 
to  distribute  his  legions  with  foresight  in  a certain 

1 The  Roman  lav/  was  used  throughout  Provincia.  In  this  respect  a line  is 
to  be  drawn  between  Provincia  and  the  North.  See  post,  Chapter  XXXIV.,  II 
and  III. 


28 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


crisis.1  Thus,  without  shrug  or  smile,  writes  the  greatest 
of  revolutionists  who  for  himself  was  also  seeking  liberty 
of  action,  freely  and  devisingly,  not  hurried  by  impatience 
or  any  such  planless  restlessness  as,  for  example,  drove 
Dumnorix  the  Aeduan  to  plot  feebly,  futilely,  without  plan 
or  policy,  against  fate,  to  wit  Caesar — so  he  met  his  death.2 

h Instability  appears  as  peculiarly  characteristic  of  the 
Gauls.  They  were  not  barbarians,  but  an  ingenious  folk, 
quick-witted  and  loquacious.3  Their  domestic  customs  were 
reasonable ; they  had  taxes  and  judicial  tribunals ; their 
religion  held  belief  in  immortality,  and  in  other  respects  was 
not  below  the  paganism  of  Italy.  It  was  directed  by  the 
priestly  caste  of  Druids,  who  possessed  considerable  know- 
ledge, and  used  the  Greek  alphabet  in  writing.  They  also 
presided  at  trials,  and  excommunicated  suitors  who  would 
not  obey  their  judicial  decrees.4 

The  country  was  divided  into  about  ninety  states 
( civitates ).  Monarchies  appear  among  them,  but  the  greater 
number  were  aristocracies  torn  with  jealousy,  and  always  in 
alarm  lest  some  noble’s  overweening  influence  upset  the 
government.  The  common  people  and  poor  debtors  seem 
scarcely  to  have  counted.  Factions  existed  in  every  state, 
village,  and  even  household,  says  Caesar,5  headed  by  the 
rival  states  of  the  Aedui  and  Sequani.  Espousing,  as  he 
professed  to,  the  Aeduan  cause,  Caesar  could  always  appear 
as  an  ally  of  one  faction.  At  the  last  a general  confederacy 
took  up  arms  against  him  under  the  noble  Auvernian, 
Vercingetorix.6  But  the  instability  of  his  authority  forced 
the  hand  of  this  brilliant  leader. 

In  fine,  it  would  seem  that  the  Gallic  peoples  had  pro- 

1 Bettum  Gallicum,  iii.  io.  Cf.,  generally,  Caesar's  Conquest  of  Gaul,  T.  R. 
Holmes  (2nd  ed.,  Oxford,  1911). 

2 Bettum,  Gallicum,  v.  6. 

3 Porcius  Cato  in  his  Origines,  written  a hundred  years  before  Caesar  crossed 
the  mountains,  says  that  Gallia  was  devoted  to  the  art  of  war  and  to  eloquence  ( argute 
loqui).  Presumably  the  Gallia  that  Cato  thus  characterized  as  clever  or  acute  of 
speech,  was  Cisalpine  Gaul,  to  wit,  the  north  of  Italy;  yet  Caesar’s  transalpine  Gauls 
were  both  clever  of  speech  and  often  the  fools  of  their  own  arguments.  Lucian,  in 
Hercules  (No.  55,  Dindorf’s  edition),  has  his  “Celt”  argue  that  Hercules  accom- 
plished his  deeds  by  the  power  of  words. 

4 See,  generally,  Fustel  de  Coulanges,  Institutions  politiques  de  Vancienne  France, 
vol.  i.  {La  Gaule  romaine). 

6 Bettum  Gallicum,  vi.  11,  12. 

6 Cf.  Julian,  V ercingetorixfi  nd  ed.,  Paris,  1902). 


CHAP.  II 


LATINIZING  OF  THE  WEST 


29 


gressed  in  civilization  as  far  as  their  limited  political  capacity 
and  self-control  would  allow.  These  were  the  limitations 
set  by  the  Gallic  character.  It  is  a Gallic  custom,  says 
Caesar,  to  stop  travellers,  and  insist  upon  their  telling 
what  they  know  or  have  heard.  In  the  towns  the  crowd 
will  throng  around  a merchant  and  make  him  tell  where  he 
has  come  from  and  give  them  the  news.  Upon  such  hear- 
say the  Gauls  enter  upon  measures  of  the  gravest  importance. 
The  states  which  are  deemed  the  best  governed,  he  adds, 
have  a law  that  whenever  any  one  has  heard  a report  or 
rumour  of  public  moment,  he  shall  communicate  it  to  a 
magistrate  and  to  none  else.  The  magistrates  conceal  or 
divulge  such  news  in  their  discretion.  It  is  not  permitted  to 
discuss  public  affairs  save  in  an  assembly.1 

Apparently  Caesar  is  not  joking  in  these  passages,  which 
speak  of  a statecraft  based  on  gossip  gathered  in  the  streets, 
carried  straight  to  a magistrate,  and  neither  discussed  nor 
divulged  on  the  way ! Quite  otherwise  were  Roman  officials 
to  govern,  when  Caesar’s  great  campaigns  had  subdued  these 
mercurial  Gauls.  It  was  after  his  death  that  Augustus 
established  the  Roman  order  through  the  land.  In  those 
famous  partes  tres  of  the  Commentaries  he  settled  it : Iberian 

and  Celtic  Aquitania,  Celtic  Lugdunensis,  and  Celtic-Teuton 
Belgica,  making  together  the  three  Gauls.  It  is  significant 
that  the  emperor  kept  them  as  imperial  provinces,  still 
needing  military  administration,  while  he  handed  over  Pro- 
vincia  to  the  Senate. 

Provincia  had  been  Romanized  in  law  and  government 
as  the  “Three  Gauls”  never  were  to  be.  Augustus  followed 
Caesar  in  respecting  the  tribal  and  cantonal  divisions  of  the 
latter,  making  only  such  changes  as  were  necessary.  Gallic 
cities  under  the  Empire  show  no  great  uniformity.  Each 
appears  as  the  continuance  of  the  local  tribe,  whose  life  and 
politics  were  focussed  in  the  town.  The  city  ( civitas ) did 
not  end  with  the  town  walls,  but  included  the  surrounding 
country  and  perhaps  many  villages.  A number  of  these 
cities  preserved  their  ancient  constitutions ; others  con- 
formed to  the  type  of  Roman  colonies,  whose  constitutions 
were  modelled  on  those  of  Italian  cities.  Colonia  Claudia 


1 Bellum  Gallicum,  iv.  5 ; vi.  20 


30 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


Agrippina  (Cologne)  is  an  example.  But  all  the  cities  of 
the  “Three  Gauls”  as  well  as  those  of  Provincia,  whatever 
their  form  of  government,  conducted  their  affairs  with  senate, 
magistrates  and  police  of  their  choosing,  had  their  municipal 
property,  and  controlled  their  internal  finances.  A diet  was 
established  for  the  “Three  Gauls”  at  Lyons,  to  which  the 
cities  sent  delegates.  Whatever  were  its  powers,  its  existence 
tended  to  foster  a sense  of  common  Gallic  nationality.  The 
Roman  franchise,  however,  was  but  sparingly  bestowed  on 
individuals,  and  was  not  granted  to  any  Gallic  city  (except 
Lyons)  until  the  time  of  Claudius,  himself  born  at  Lyons. 
He  refounded  Cologne  as  a colony,  granted  the  franchise  to 
Treves,  and  abolished  the  provisions  forbidding  Gauls  to 
hold  the  imperial  magistracies.  With  the  reorganization  of 
the  Empire  under  Diocletian,  Treves  became  the  capital  not 
only  of  Gaul,  but  of  Spain  and  Britain  also. 

Although  there  was  thus  no  violent  Romanization  of 
Gaul,  Roman  civilization  rapidly  progressed  under  imperial 
fostering,  and  by  virtue  of  its  own  energy.  Roman  roads 
traversed  the  country ; bridges  spanned  the  rivers ; aque- 
ducts were  constructed ; cities  grew,  trade  increased,  agri- 
culture improved,  and  the  vine  was  introduced.  At  the  time 
of  Caesar’s  conquest,  the  quick-minded  Gauls  were  prepared 
to  profit  from  a superior  civilization ; and  under  the  mighty 
peace  of  Rome,  men  settled  down  to  the  blessings  of  safe 
living  and  law  regularly  enforced. 

The  spread  of  the  Latin  tongue  and  the  finer  elements  of 
Latin  culture  followed  the  establishment  of  the  Roman  order. 
One  Gallic  city  and  then  another  adopted  the  new  language 
according  to  its  circumstances  and  situation.  Of  course  the 
cities  of  Provincia  took  the  lead,  largely  Italian  as  they  were 
in  population.  On  the  other  hand,  Latin  made  slow  progress 
among  the  hills  of  Auvergne.  But  further  north,  the  Roman 
city  of  Lyons  was  Latin-tongued  from  its  foundation.  Thence 
to  the  remoter  north  and  west  and  east,  Latin  spread  by 
cities,  the  foci  of  affairs  and  provincial  administration.  The 
imperial  government  did  not  demand  of  its  subjects  that  they 
should  abandon  their  native  speech,  but  required  in  Gaul,  as 
elsewhere,  the  use  of  Latin  in  the  transaction  of  official 
business.  This  compelled  all  to  study  Latin  who  had  affairs 


CHAP.  II 


LATINIZING  OF  THE  WEST 


3i 


in  law  courts  or  with  officials,  or  hoped  to  become  magistrates. 
Undoubtedly  the  rich  and  noble,  especially  in  the  towns, 
learned  Latin  quickly,  and  it  soon  became  the  vehicle  of 
polite,  as  well  as  official,  intercourse.  It  was  also  the 
language  of  the  schools  attended  by  the  noble  Gallic  youth. 
But  among  the  rural  population,  the  native  tongues  con- 
tinued indefinitely.  Obviously  one  cannot  assign  any 
specific  time  for  the  popular  and  general  change  from  Celtic ; 
but  it  appears  to  have  very  generally  taken  place  before  the 
Frankish  conquest.1 

By  that  time,  too,  those  who  would  naturally  constitute 
the  educated  classes  possessed  a Latin  education.  First  in 
the  cities  of  Provincia,  Nimes,  Arles,  Vienne,  Frejus,  Aix  in 
Provence,  then  of  course  at  Lyons  and  in  Aquitaine,  and 
later  through  the  cities  of  the  north-east,  Treves,  Mainz, 
Cologne,  and  most  laggingly  through  the  north-west  Belgic 
lands  lying  over  against  the  channel  and  the  North  Sea, 
Latin  education  spread.  Grammar  and  rhetoric  were  taught, 
and  the  great  Classics  were  explained  and  read,  till  the 
Gauls  doubtless  felt  themselves  Roman  in  spirit  as  in  tongue. 

Of  course  they  were  mistaken.  To  be  sure  the  Gaul 
was  a citizen  of  the  Empire,  which  not  only  represented 
safety  and  civilization,  but  in  fact  was  the  entire  civilized 
world.  He  had  no  thought  of  revolting  from  that,  any  more 
than  from  his  daily  habits  or  his  daily  food.  Often  he  felt 
himself  sentimentally  affected  toward  this  universal  symbol 
of  his  welfare.  He  had  Latin  speech ; he  had  Roman 
fashions;  he  took  his  warm  baths  and  his  cold,  enjoyed  the 
sports  of  the  amphitheatre,  studied  Roman  literature,  and 
talked  of  the  Respublica  and  Aurea  Roma.  Yet  he  was, 
after  all,  merely  a Romanized  inhabitant  of  Gaul.  Roman 
law  and  government,  Latin  education,  and  the  colour  of  the 

1 There  are  a number  of  texts  from  the  second  to  the  fifth  century  which  bear 
on  the  matter.  Taken  altogether  they  are  unsatisfying,  if  not  blind.  They  have 
been  frequently  discussed.  See  Grober,  Grundriss  der  romanischen  Philologie, 
i.  451  sqq.  (2nd  edition,  1904);  Brunot,  Origines  de  la  langue  franqaise,  which 
is  the  Introduction  to  Petit  de  Julleville’s  Eistoire  de  la  langue  et  de  la 
litter ature  franqaise  (Paris,  1896) ; Bonnet,  Le  Latin  de  Gregoire  de  Tours,  pp. 
22-30  (Paris,  1890);  Mommsen’s  Provinces  of  the  Roman  Empire,  p.  108  sqq.  of 
English  translation ; Fustel  de  Coulanges,  Institutions  politiques  vol.  i.  (La  Gaule 
romaine ),  pp.  125-135  (Paris,  1891);  Roger,  L’Enseignement  des  lettres  classiques 
d’Ausone  a Alcuin,  p.  24  sqq.  (Paris,  1905). 


32 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


Roman  spirit  had  been  imparted ; but  the  inworking, 
creative  genius  of  Rome  was  not  within  her  gift  or  his 
capacity.  The  Gauls,  however,  are  the  chief  example  of  a 
mediating  people.  Romanized  and  not  made  Roman,  their 
epoch,  their  geographical  situation,  and  their  modified 
faculties,  all  made  them  intermediaries  between  the  Roman 
and  the  Teuton. 

If  the  Romanization  of  the  “Three  Gauls”  was  least 
thorough  in  Belgica,  there  was  even  less  of  it  across  the 
channel.  Britain,  as  far  north  as  the  Clyde  and  Firth  of 
Forth,  was  a Roman  province  for  three  or  four  hundred 
years.  Latin  was  the  language  of  the  towns ; but  probably 
never  supplanted  the  Celtic  in  the  country.  The  Roman- 
ization of  the  Britons,  however,  whether  thorough  or  super- 
ficial, affected  a people  who  were  to  be  apparently  submerged. 
They  seem  to  have  transmitted  none  of  their  Latin  civiliza- 
tion to  their  Anglo-Saxon  conquerors.  Yet  even  the  latter 
when  they  came  to  Britain  were  not  quite  untouched  by 
Rome.  They  were  familiar  with  Roman  wares,  if  not  with 
Roman  ways ; and  certain  Latin  words  which  are  found  in 
all  Teutonic  languages  had  doubtless  entered  Anglo-Saxon.1 
But  this  early  Roman  influence  was  slight,  compared  with 
that  which  afterwards  came  with  Christianity.  Nor  did  the 
Roman  culture,  before  the  introduction  of  Christianity,  exert 
a deep  effect  on  Germany,  at  least  beyond  the  neighborhood 
of  the  large  Roman  or  Romanized  towns  like  Cologne  and 
Mainz.  In  many  ways,  indeed,  the  Germans  were  touched 
by  Rome.  Roman  diplomacy,  exciting  tribe  against  tribe, 
was  decimating  them.  Roman  influences,  and  sojourn  at 
Rome,  had  taught  much  to  many  German  princes.  Roman 
weapons,  Roman  utensils  and  wares  of  all  kinds,  were  used 
from  the  Danube  to  the  Baltic.  But  all  this  did  not 
Romanize  the  Germans,  any  more  than  the  Latin  words 
which  had  crept  in  Latinized  their  language.2 

1 Such  words  are,  e.g.,  wine,  street,  wall.  See  Toller,  History  of  the  English  Lan- 
guage (Macmillan  & Co.,  1900),  pp.  41,  42. 

2 See  Paul,  Grundriss  der  germaniscken  Philologie,  Band  i.  pp.  305-315  (Strass- 
burg,  1891). 


CHAPTER  III 


GREEK  PHILOSOPHY  AS  THE  ANTECEDENT  OF  THE  PATRISTIC 
APPREHENSION  OF  FACT 


The  Latin  West  afforded  the  milieu  in  which  the  thoughts 
and  sentiments  of  the  antique  and  partly  Christian  world 
were  held  in  Latin  forms  and  preserved  from  obliteration 
during  the  fifth  and  succeeding  centuries,  until  taken  up  by 
the  currents  of  mingled  decrepitude  and  callowness  which 
marked  the  coming  of  the  mediaeval  time.  Latin  Christianity 
survived,  and  made  its  way  across  those  stormy  centuries  to 
its  mediaeval  harbourage.  The  antique  also  was  carried 
over,  either  in  the  ship  of  Latin  Christianity,  or  in  tenders 
freighted  by  certain  Latin  Christians  who  dealt  in  secular 
learning,  though  not  in  “unbroken  packages.”  Those 
unbroken  packages,  to  wit,  the  Latin  classics,  and  after 
many  centuries  the  Greek,  also  floated  over.  But  in  the 
early  mediaeval  times,  men  preferred  the  pagan  matter 
rehashed,  as  in  the  Etymologies  of  Isidore. 

The  great  ship  of  Christian  doctrine  not  only  bore  bits 
of  the  pagan  antique  stowed  here  and  there,  but  itself  was 
built  with  many  a plank  of  antique  timber,  and  there  were 
antique  ingredients  in  its  Christian  freight;  in  other  words, 
the  theology  of  the  Church  Fathers  was  partly  made  of 
Greek  philosophy,  and  was  put  together  in  modes  of  Greek 
philosophic  reasoning.  The  Fathers  lived  in  the  Roman 
Empire,  or  in  what  was  left  of  it  in  the  third,  fourth,  fifth, 
and  sixth  centuries.  Many  of  them  were  born  of  pagan 
parents,  and  all  received  the  common  education  in  grammar, 
rhetoric,  and  literature,  which  were  pagan  and  permeated 
with  pagan  philosophy.  For  philosophy  was  then  the 
highest  branch  of  education,  and  had  become  a source  of 

VOL.  I 3.3  D 


33 


34 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


principles  of  conduct  and  “daily  thoughts  for  daily  needs. ” 
Many  of  the  Fathers  in  their  pagan,  or  at  least  unsanctified, 
youth  had  deeply  studied  it. 

Philosophy  held  the  sum  of  knowledge  in  the  Empire, 
and  from  it  came  the  concepts  in  which  all  the  Fathers 
reasoned.  But  the  Latin  Fathers,  who  were  juristically  and 
rhetorically  educated,  might  also  reason  through  conceptions, 
or  in  a terminology,  taken  from  the  Roman  Law.  Never- 
theless, in  the  rational  process  of  formulating  Christian 
dogma,  Greek  philosophy  was  the  overwhelmingly  important 
factor,  because  it  furnished  knowledge  and  the  metaphysical 
concepts,  and  because  the  greater  number  of  Christian 
theologians  were  Hellenic  in  spirit,  and  wrote  Greek;  while 
the  Latins  reset  in  Latin,  and  sometimes  juristic,  phrase  what 
their  eastern  brethren  had  evolved.1 

Obviously,  in  order  to  appreciate  the  mental  endowment 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  it  is  essential  to  have  cognizance  of 
patristic  thought.  And  in  order  to  understand  the  mental 
processes  of  the  Fathers,  their  attitude  toward  knowledge 
and  their  perception  of  fact,  one  must  consider  their  intel- 
lectual environment ; which  was,  of  course,  made  up  of 
the  store  of  knowledge  and  philosophic  interests  prevailing 
in  the  Roman  Empire.  So  we  have  to  gauge  the  intellectual 
interests  of  the  pagan  world,  first  in  the  earlier  times  when 
thinkers  were  bringing  together  knowledge  and  philosophic 
concepts,  and  then  in  the  later  period  when  its  accumulated 
and  somewhat  altered  thought  made  the  actual  environment 
of  the  Church. 

What  race  had  ever  a more  genial  appreciation  of  the 
facts  of  nature  and  of  mortal  life,  than  the  Greeks?  The 
older  Greek  philosophies  had  sprung  from  open  and  unpreju- 
diced observation  of  the  visible  world.  They  were  physical 
inquiries.  With  Socrates  philosophy  turned,  as  it  were,  from 


1 A prime  illustration  is  afforded  by  the  Latin  juristic  word  persona  used  in 
the  Creed.  The  Latins  had  to  render  the  three  i^oo-rao-eis  of  the  Greeks;  and  “three 
somethings,”  tria  quaedam,  was  too  loose,  as  Augustine  says  ( De  Trinitate,  vii. 
7-12).  The  true  and  literal  translation  of  vnoo-Tacns  would  have  been  substantia; 
but  that  word  had  been  taken  to  render  ovata.  So  the  legal  word  persona  was  em- 
ployed in  spite  of  its  recognized  unfitness.  Cf.  Taylor,  Classical  Heritage,  etc.,  p. 


CHAP.  Ill 


GREEK  ANTECEDENTS 


35 


fact  to  truth,  to  a consideration  of  the  validity  of  human 
understanding.  Thereupon  the  Greek  mind  became  en- 
tranced with  its  own  creations.  Man  was  the  measure  of  all 
things,  for  the  Sophists.  More  irrefragably  and  pregnantly, 
man  became  the  measure  of  all  things  for  Socrates  and  Plato. 
The  aphorism  might  be  discarded ; but  its  transcendental 
import  was  established  in  an  imaginative  dialectic  whose 
correspondence  to  the  divinest  splendours  of  the  human  mind 
warranted  its  truth.  With  Platonists — and  the  world  was 
always  to  be  filled  with  them — perceptions  of  physical  facts 
and  the  data  of  human  life  and  history,  were  henceforth  to 
constitute  the  outer  actuality  of  a creation  within  the  mind. 
Every  observed  fact  is  an  apparent  tangibility;  but  its 
reality  consists  in  its  unison  with  the  ultimate  realities  of 
rational  conception.  The  apprehension  of  the  fact  must  be 
made  to  conform  to  these.  For  this  reason  every  fact  has  a 
secondary,  nay,  primary,  because  spiritual,  meaning.  Its 
true  interpretation  lies  in  that  significance  which  accords 
with  the  mind’s  consistent  system  of  conceptions,  which 
present  the  fact  as  it  must  be  thought,  and  therefore  as  it  is ; 
it  is  the  fact  brought  into  right  relationship  with  spiritual 
and  ethical  verity.  Of  course,  methods  of  apprehending 
terrestrial  and  celestial  phenomena  as  illustrations  of  ideally 
conceived  principles,  were  unlikely  to  foster  habits  of  close 
observation.  The  apparent  facts  of  sense  would  probably 
be  imaginatively  treated  if  not  transformed  in  the  process  of 
their  apprehension.  Nor,  with  respect  to  human  story, 
would  such  methods  draw  fixed  lines  between  the  narration 
of  what  men  are  pleased  to  call  the  actual  occurrence,  and 
the  shaping  of  a tale  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  argument  or 
illustration. 

All  this  is  obvious  in  Plato.  The  Timaeus  was  his 
vision  of  the  universe,  in  which  physical  facts  became  plastic 
material  for  the  spirit’s  power  to  mould  into  the  likeness  of 
ideal  conceptions.  The  creation  of  the  universe  is  conformed 
to  the  structure  of  Platonic  dialectic.  If  any  meaning  be 
certain  through  the  words  and  imagery  of  this  dialogue,  it  is 
that  the  world  and  all  creatures  which  it  contains  derive 
such  reality  as  they  have  from  conformity  to  the  thoughts  or 
ideal  patterns  in  the  divine  mind.  Visible  things  are  real 


36 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


only  so  far  as  they  conform  to  those  perfect  conceptions. 
Moreover,  the  visible  creation  has  another  value,  that  of  its 
ethical  significance.  Physical  phenomena  symbolize  the 
conformity  of  humanity  to  its  best  ideal  of  conduct.  Man 
may  learn  to  regulate  the  lawless  movements  of  his  soul 
from  the  courses  of  the  stars,  the  noblest  of  created  gods. 

Thus  as  to  natural  phenomena;  and  likewise  as  to  the 
human  story,  fact  or  fiction.  The  myth  of  the  shadow-seers 
in  the  cave,  with  which  the  seventh  book  of  the  Republic 
opens,  is  just  as  illustratively  and  ideally  true  as  that 
opening  tale  in  the  Timaeus  of  the  ancient  Athenian  state, 
which  fought  for  its  own  and  others’  freedom  against  the 
people  of  Atlantis — till  the  earthquake  ended  the  old 
Athenian  race,  and  the  Atlantean  continent  was  swallowed 
in  the  sea.  This  story  has  piqued  curiosity  for  two  thousand 
years.  Was  it  tradition,  or  the  creation  of  an  artist  dialec- 
tician? In  either  case  its  ideal  and  edifying  truth  stood  or 
fell,  not  by  reason  of  conformity  to  any  basic  antecedent 
fact,  but  according  to  its  harmony  with  the  beautiful  and 
good. 

Plato’s  method  of  conceiving  fact  might  be  applied  to 
man’s  thoughts  of  God,  of  the  origin  of  the  world  and  the 
courses  of  the  stars ; also  to  the  artistic  manipulation  of 
illustrative  or  edifying  story.  Matters,  large,  remote,  and 
mysterious,  admit  of  idealizing  ways  of  apprehension.  But  it 
might  seem  idiocy,  rather  than  idealism,  to  apply  this  method 
to  the  plain  facts  of  common  life,  which  may  be  handled  and 
looked  at  all  around — to  which  there  is  no  mysterious  other 
side,  like  the  moon’s  for  ever  turned  away.  Nevertheless 
the  method  and  its  motives  drew  men  from  careful  observa- 
tion of  nature,  and  would  invest  biography  and  history  with 
interests  promoting  the  ingenious  application,  rather  than 
the  close  scrutiny,  of  fact. 

Thus  Platonism  and  its  way  of  treating  narrative  could 
not  but  foster  the  allegorical  interpretation  of  ancient 
tradition  and  literature,  which  was  already  in  vogue  in 
Plato’s  time.  It  mattered  not  that  he  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  the  current  allegories  through  which  men  moralized 
or  rationalized  the  old  tales  of  the  doings  of  the  gods.  He 
was  himself  a weaver  of  the  loveliest  allegories  when  it 


CHAP.  Ill 


GREEK  ANTECEDENTS 


37 


served  his  purpose.  And  after  him  the  allegorical  habit 
entered  into  the  interpretation  of  all  ancient  story.  In  the 
course  of  time  allegory  will  be  applied  by  the  Jew  Philo  of 
Alexandria  to  the  Pentateuch ; and  one  or  two  centuries 
later  it  will  play  a great  role  in  Christian  polemics  against 
Jew  and  then  against  Manichean.  It  will  become  par 
excellence  the  chief  mode  of  patristic  exegesis,  and  pass  on 
as  a legacy  of  spiritual  truth  to  the  mediaeval  church. 

Aristotle  strikes  us  as  a man  of  different  type  from  Plato. 
Whether  his  intellectual  interests  were  broader  than  his 
teacher’s  is  hardly  for  ordinary  people  to  say.  He  certainly 
was  more  actively  interested  in  the  investigation  of  nature. 
Head  of  an  actual  school  (as  Plato  had  been),  and  assisted 
by  the  co-operation  of  able  men,  he  presents  himself,  with 
what  he  accomplished,  at  least  in  threefold  guise : as  a 
metaphysician  and  the  perfector,  if  not  creator,  of  formal 
logic ; as  an  observer  of  the  facts  of  nature  and  the  institu- 
tions and  arts  of  men ; as  a man  of  encyclopaedic  learning. 
These  three  phases  of  intellectual  effort  proportioned  each 
other  in  a mind  of  universal  power  and  appetition.  Yet  it 
has  been  thought  that  there  was  more  metaphysics  and 
formal  logic  in  Aristotle  than  was  good  for  his  natural 
science. 

The  lost  and  extant  writings  which  have  been  ascribed 
to  him  embraced  a hundred  and  fifty  titles  and  amounted 
to  four  hundred  books.  Those  which  have  been  of  universal 
influence  upon  human  inquiry  suffice  to  illustrate  the  scope 
of  his  labours.  There  were  the  treatises  upon  Logic  and 
first  among  them  the  Categories  or  classes  of  propositions, 
and  the  De  inter pretatione  on  the  constituent  parts  and  kinds 
of  sentences.  These  two  elementary  treatises  (the  author- 
ship of  which  has  been  questioned)  were  the  only  Aristotelian 
writings  generally  used  through  the  West  until  the  latter 
half  of  the  twelfth  century,  when  the  remainder  of  the  logical 
treatises  became  known,  to  wit,  the  Prior  Analytics , upon 
the  syllogism ; the  Posterior  Analytics  upon  logical  dem- 
onstration; the  Topics , or  demonstrations  having  proba- 
bility; and  the  Sophistical  Elenchi , upon  false  conclusions 
and  their  refutation.  Together  these  constitute  the  Organon 
or  complete  logical  instrument,  as  it  became  known  to  the 


38 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


latter  half  of  the  twelfth  century,  and  as  we  possess  it 
to-day. 

The  Rhetoric  follows,  not  disconnected  with  the  logical 
treatises.  Then  may  be  named  the  Metaphysics , and  then 
the  writings  devoted  to  Nature,  to  wit,  the  Physics , Concern- 
ing the  Heavens , Concerning  Genesis  and  Decay , the  Meteor- 
ology, the  Mechanical  Problems , the  History  of  Animals , the 
Anatomical  descriptions , the  De  anima,  the  Parts  of  Animals , 
the  Generation  of  Animals.  There  was  a Botany,  which  is 
lost.  Finally,  one  names  the  great  works  on  Ethics,  Politics, 
and  Poetry. 

Every  one  is  overwhelmed  by  the  compass  of  the  achieve- 
ment of  this  intellect.  As  to  the  transcendent  value  of  the 
works  on  Logic,  Metaphysics,  Psychology,  Rhetoric,  Ethics, 
Politics,  and  Poetry,  the  world  of  scholarship  has  long  been 
practically  at  one.  There  is  a difference  of  opinion  as  to 
the  quantity  and  quality  of  actual  investigation  represented 
by  the  writings  on  Natural  History.  But  Aristotle  is 
commonly  regarded  as  the  founder  of  systematic  Zoology. 
On  the  whole,  perhaps  one  will  not  err  in  repeating  what 
has  been  said  hundreds  of  times,  that  the  works  ascribed  to 
Aristotle,  and  which  undoubtedly  were  produced  by  him  or 
his  co-labourers  under  his  direction,  represent  the  most 
prodigious  intellectual  achievement  ever  connected  with  any 
single  name. 

In  the  school  of  Aristotle,  one  phase  or  another  of  the 
master’s  activity  would  be  likely  to  absorb  the  student’s 
energy  and  fasten  his  entire  attention.  Aristotle’s  own 
pupil  and  successor  was  the  admirable  Theophrastus,  a man 
of  comprehensive  attainment,  who  nevertheless  devoted 
himself  principally  to  carrying  on  his  master’s  labours  in 
botany,  and  other  branches  of  natural  science.  A History 
of  Physics  was  one  of  the  most  important  of  his  works. 
Another  pupil  of  Aristotle  was  Eudemus  of  Rhodes,  who 
became  a physicist  and  a historian  of  the  three  sciences  of 
Geometry,  Arithmetic,  and  Astronomy.  He  exhibits  the 
learned  activities  thenceforth  to  characterize  the  Peripatetics. 
It  would  have  been  difficult  to  carry  further  the  logic  or  meta- 
physics of  the  master.  But  his  work  in  natural  science 
might  be  supplemented,  while  the  body  of  his  writings  offered 


CHAP.  Ill 


GREEK  ANTECEDENTS 


39 


a vast  field  for  the  labours  of  the  commentator.  And  so, 
in  fact,  Peripatetic  energies  in  the  succeeding  generations 
were  divided  between  science  and  learning,  the  latter 
centring  chiefly  in  historical  and  grammatical  labours  and 
the  exposition  of  the  master’s  writing.1 

Aristotelianism  was  not  to  be  the  philosophy  of  the 
closing  pre-Christian  centuries,  any  more  than  it  was  to  be 
the  philosophy  of  the  thousand  years  and  more  following 
the  Crucifixion.  During  all  that  time,  its  logic  held  its  own, 
and  a number  of  its  metaphysical  principles  were  absorbed 
in  other  systems.  But  Aristotelianism  as  a system  soon 
ceased  to  be  in  vogue,  and  by  the  sixth  century  was  no 
longer  known. 

Yet  one  might  find  an  echo  of  its  spirit  in  all  men  who 
were  seeking  knowledge  from  the  world  of  nature,  from 
history  and  humane  learning.  There  were  always  such; 
and  some  famous  examples  may  be  drawn  even  from  among 
the  practical-minded  Romans.  One  thinks  at  once  of 
Cicero’s  splendid  breadth  of  humane  and  literary  interest. 
His  friend  Terentius  Varro  was  a more  encyclopaedic 
personality,  and  an  eager  student  in  all  fields  of  knowledge. 
Although  not  an  investigator  of  nature  he  wrote  on  agri- 
culture, on  navigation,  on  geometry,  as  well  as  the  Latin 
tongue,  and  on  Antiquities,  divine  and  human,  even  on 
philosophy.2 

Another  lover  of  knowledge  was  the  elder  Pliny,  who 
died  from  venturing  too  near  to  observe  the  eruption  which 
destroyed  Pompeii.  He  was  an  important  functionary 
under  the  emperor  Vespasian,  just  as  Varro  had  held  offices 
of  authority  in  the  time  of  the  Republic.  Pliny’s  Historia 
naturalis  was  an  astounding  compilation,  intended  to  cover 
the  whole  plain  of  common  and  uncommon  knowledge. 
The  compiler  neither  observed  for  himself  nor  weighed  the 
statements  of  others.  His  compilation  is  a happy  harbour- 
age for  the  preposterous  as  well  as  reasonable,  where  the 
traveller’s  tale  of  far-off  wonders  takes  its  place  beside  the 
testimony  of  Aristotle.  All  is  fish  that  comes  to  the  net 


1 On  these  Peripatetics  see  Zeller,  Philosophic  der  Griechett,  3rd  ed.  vol.  ii.  pp. 
806-946. 

2 See  Boissier,  Etude  sur  M.  T.  Varron  (Paris,  1861). 


40 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


of  the  good  Pliny,  though  it  be  that  wonderful  piscis,  the 
Echinus , which  though  but  a cubit  long  has  such  tenacity  of 
grip  and  purpose  that  it  holds  fast  the  largest  galley,  and 
with  the  resistance  of  its  fins,  renders  impotent  the  efforts 
of  a hundred  rowers.  Fish  for  Pliny  also  are  all  the  stories 
of  antiquity,  of  dog-headed,  one-legged,  big-footed  men,  of 
the  Pigmies  and  the  Cranes,  of  the  Phoenix  and  the  Basilisk. 
He  delights  in  the  more  intricate  causality  of  nature’s 
phenomena,  and  tells  how  the  bowels  of  the  field-mouse 
increase  in  number  with  the  days  of  the  moon,  and  the 
energy  of  the  ant  decreases  as  the  orb  of  Venus  wanes.1  But 
this  credulous  person  was  a marvel  of  curiosity  and  diligence, 
and  we  are  all  his  debtors  for  an  acquaintance  with  the 
hearsay  opinions  current  in  the  antique  world. 

Varro  and  Pliny  were  encyclopaedists.  Yet  before,  as 
well  as  after  them,  the  men  possessed  by  the  passion  for 
knowledge  of  the  natural  world  were  frequently  devoted  to 
some  branch  of  inquiry,  rather  than  encyclopaedic  gleaners 
or  universal  philosophers.  Hippocrates,  Socrates’s  contem- 
porary, had  left  a name  rightly  enduring  as  the  greatest 
of  physicians.  In  the  third  century  before  Christ  Euclid  is 
a great  mathematician,  and  Hipparchus  and  Archimedes 
have  place  for  ever,  the  one  among  the  great  astronomers, 
the  other  among  the  great  terrestrial  physicists.  All  these 
men  represent  reflection  and  theory,  as  well  as  investigation 
and  experiment.  Leaping  forward  to  the  second  century 
a.d.,  we  find  among  others  two  great  lovers  of  science.  Galen 
of  Pergamos  was  a worthy  follower,  if  not  a peer,  of  the  great 
physician  of  classic  Greece ; and  Ptolemy  of  Alexandria 
emulated  the  Alexandrian  Hipparchus,  whose  fame  he 
revered,  and  whose  labours  (with  his  own)  he  transmitted  to 
posterity.  Each  of  these  men  may  be  regarded  as  advanc- 
ing some  portion  of  the  universal  plan  of  Aristotle. 

Another  philosophy,  Stoicism,  had  already  reached  a wide 
acceptance.  As  for  the  causes  of  this,  doubtless  the  decline 
of  Greek  civic  freedom  before  the  third  century  b.c.,  had 
tended  to  throw  thoughtful  men  back  upon  their  inner  life; 
and  those  who  had  lost  their  taste  for  the  popular  religion, 
needed  a philosophy  to  live  by.  Stoicism  became  especially 

1 Hist,  naturalis,  ii.  41. 


CHAP.  Ill 


GREEK  ANTECEDENTS 


4i 


popular  among  the  Romans.  It  was  ethics,  a philosophy 
of  practice  rather  than  of  knowledge.  The  Stoic  looked 
out  upon  the  world  from  the  inner  fortress  of  the  human 
will.  That  guarded  or  rather  constituted  his  well-being. 
He  cared  for  such  knowledge,  call  it  instruction  rather, 
as  would  make  good  the  principle  that  human  well-being 
lay  in  the  rightly  self-directing  will.  He  did  not  seriously 
care  for  metaphysics,  or  for  knowledge  of  the  natural 
world,  save  as  one  or  the  other  subserved  the  ends  of  his 
philosophy  as  a guide  of  life.  Thus  the  Stoic  physics, 
so  important  a part  in  the  Stoic  system,  was  inspired 
by  utilitarian  motives  and  deflected  from  unprejudiced 
observation  by  teleological  considerations  and  reflections 
on  the  dispensations  of  Providence.  Of  course,  some  of 
the  Stoics  show  a further  range  of  intellectual  interest; 
Seneca,  for  example,  who  was  a fine  moralist  and  wrote 
beautiful  essays  upon  the  conduct  of  life.  He,  like  a 
number  of  other  people,  composed  a book  of  Quaestiones 
naturales , which  was  chiefly  devoted  to  the  weather,  a 
subject  always  very  close  to  man.  But  he  was  not  a serious 
meteorologist.  For  him  the  interest  of  the  fact  lay  rather 
in  its  use  or  in  its  moral  bearing.  After  Seneca  the  Stoic 
interest  in  fact  narrows  still  further,  as  with  Epictetus  and 
Marcus  Aurelius. 

Like  things  might  be  said  of  the  school  of  Epicurus,  a 
child  of  different  colour,  yet  birthmate  of  the  Stoa.  For  in 
that  philosophy,  as  in  Stoicism,  all  knowledge  beyond  ethics 
had  a subordinate  role.  As  a Stoic  or  Epicurean,  a man 
was  not  likely  to  contribute  to  the  advance  of  any  branch 
of  science.  Yet  habits  of  eclectic  thought  and  common 
curiosity,  or  call  it  love  of  knowledge,  made  many  nominal 
members  of  these  schools  eager  students  and  compilers  from 
the  works  of  others. 

We  have  yet  to  speak  of  the  system  most  representative 
of  latter-day  paganism,  and  of  enormous  import  for  the  first 
thousand  years  of  Christian  thought.  Neo-Platonism  was 
the  last  great  creation  of  Greek  philosophy.  More  specifi- 
cally, it  was  the  noblest  product  of  that  latter-day  paganism 
which  was  yearning  somewhat  distractedly,  impelled  by 
cravings  which  paganism  could  neither  quench  nor  satisfy. 


42 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


Spirit  is;  it  is  the  Real.  It  makes  the  body,  thereby 
presenting  itself  in  sensible  form ; it  is  not  confined  by  body 
or  dependent  on  body  as  its  cause  or  necessary  ground.  In 
many  ways  men  have  expressed,  and  will  express  hereafter, 
the  creative  or  causal  antecedence  of  the  spiritual  principle. 
In  many  ways  they  have  striven  to  establish  this  principle 
in  God  who  is  Spirit,  or  in  the  Absolute  One.  Many  also 
have  been  the  processes  of  individualization  and  diverse  the 
mediatorial  means,  through  which  philosopher,  apostle,  or 
Church  Doctor  has  tried  to  bring  this  principle  down  to 
man,  and  conceive  him  as  spirit  manifesting  an  intelligible 
selfhood  through  the  organs  of  sense.  Platonism  was  a 
beautiful,  if  elusive,  expression  of  this  endeavour,  and  Neo- 
Platonism  a very  palpable  although  darkening  statement  of 
the  same. 

All  men,  except  fools,  have  their  irrational  sides.  Who 
does  not  believe  what  his  reason  shall  labour  in  vain  to 
justify  ? Such  belief  may  have  its  roots  spread  through 
generalizations  broader  than  any  specific  rational  processes 
of  which  the  man  is  conscious.  And  a man  is  marked  by 
the  character  of  his  supra-rational  convictions,  or  beliefs  or 
credulous  conjectures.  One  thinks  how  Plato  wove  and 
coloured  his  dialectic,  and  angled  with  it,  after  those  tran- 
scendencies that  he  well  knew  could  never  be  so  hooked  and 
taken.  His  conviction — non-dialectical — of  the  supreme 
and  beautiful  reality  of  spirit  led  him  on  through  all  his 
arguments,  some  of  which  appear  as  playful,  while  others 
are  very  earnest. 

Less  elusive  than  Plato’s  was  the  supra-rationality  of  his 
distant  disciple,  the  Egyptian  Plotinus  (died  270),  creator  of 
Neo-Platonism.  With  him  the  supra-rational  represented 
an  elan , a reaching  beyond  the  clearly  seen  or  clearly  known, 
to  the  Spirit  itself.  He  had  a disciple  Porphyry,  like  him- 
self a sage — and  yet  a different  sage.  Porphyry’s  supra- 
rationalities  hungered  for  many  things  from  which  his 
rational  nature  turned  askance.  But  he  has  a disciple, 
lamblicus  by  name,  whose  rational  nature  not  only  ceases 
to  protest,  but  of  its  free  will  prostitutes  itself  in  the  service 
of  unreason. 

The  synthetic  genius  of  Plotinus  enabled  him  to  weave 


CHAP.  Ill 


GREEK  ANTECEDENTS 


43 


into  his  system  valuable  elements  from  Aristotle  and  the 
Stoics.  But  he  was  above  all  a Platonist.  He  presents  the 
spiritual  triad : the  One,  the  Mind,  the  Soul.  From  the 

One  comes  the  Mind,  that  is,  the  Nous,  which  embraces  the 
totality  of  the  knowable  or  intelligible,  to  wit,  the  Cosmos 
of  Ideas.  From  that,  come  the  Soul  of  the  World  and  the 
souls  of  men.  Matter,  which  is  nothing,  gains  form  and 
partial  reality  when  informed  with  soul.  Plotinus’s  attitude 
toward  knowledge  of  the  concrete  natural  or  historic  fact, 
displays  a transcendental  indifference  exceeding  that  of  Plato. 
Perceptible  facts  with  him  are  but  half-real  manifestations 
of  the  informing  spirit.  They  were  quite  plastic,  malleable, 
reducible.  Moreover,  thoughts  of  the  evil  of  the  multiple 
world  of  sense  held  for  Plotinus  and  his  followers  a bitterness 
of  ethical  unreality  which  Plato  was  too  great  an  Athenian 
to  feel. 

Dualistic  ethics  which  find  in  matter  the  principle  of 
unreality  or  evil,  diminish  the  human  interest  in  physical 
fact.  The  ethics  of  Plotinus  consisted  in  purification  and 
detachment  from  things  of  sense.  This  is  asceticism.  And 
Plotinus  was  an  ascetic,  not  through  endeavour,  but  from 
contempt.  He  did  not  struggle  to  renounce  the  world,  but 
despised  it  with  the  spontaneity  of  a sublimated  tempera- 
ment. He  seemed  like  a man  ashamed  of  being  in  the 
body,  Porphyry  says  of  him.  Nor  did  he  wish  to  cure  any 
contemptible  bodily  ailments,  or  wash  his  wretched  body. 

Plotinus’s  Absolute,  the  First  or  One,  might  not  be 
grasped  by  reason.  Yet  to  approach  and  contemplate  It 
was  the  best  for  man.  Life’s  crown  was  the  ecstasy  of  the 
supra-rational  and  supra-intelligible  vision  of  It.  This 
Plotinean  irrationality  was  lofty ; but  it  was  too  tran- 
scendent, too  difficult,  and  too  unrelated  to  the  human  heart, 
to  satisfy  other  men.  No  fear  but  that  his  followers  would 
bring  it  down  to  the  level  of  their  irrational  tendencies. 

The  borrowed  materials  of  this  philosophy  were  made  by 
its  founder  into  a veritable  system.  It  included,  potentially 
at  least,  the  popular  beliefs,  which,  however,  interested  this 
metaphysical  Copt  very  little.  But  in  those  superstitious 
centuries,  before  as  well  as  after  him,  these  cruder  elements 
were  gathered  and  made  much  of  by  men  of  note.  There 


44  THE  "MEDIAEVAL  MIND  book  i 

was  a tendency  to  contrast  the  spiritual  and  real  with  the 
manifold  of  material  nonentity,  and  a cognate  tendency  to 
emphasize  the  opposition  between  the  spiritual  and  good 
and  the  material  and  evil,  or  between  opposing  spiritual 
principles.  With  less  metaphysical  people  such  opposi- 
tion would  take  more  entrancing  shapes  in  the  battles 
of  gods  and  demons.  Probably  it  would  cause  ascetic 
repression  of  the  physical  passions.  Both  tendencies  had 
shown  themselves  before  Plotinus  came  to  build  them  into 
his  system.  Friend  Plutarch,  for  instance,  of  Chaeroneia, 
was  a man  of  pleasant  temper  and  catholic  curiosity.  His 
philosophy  was  no  great  matter.  He  was  gently  credulous, 
and  interested  in  anything  marvellous  and  every  imaginable 
god  and  demon.  This  good  Greek  was  no  ascetic,  and  yet 
had  much  to  say  of  the  strife  between  the  good  and  evil 
principle.  Like  thoughts  begat  asceticism  in  men  of  a 
different  temperament ; for  instance  in  the  once  famous 
Apollonius  of  Tyana  and  others,  who  were  called  Neo- 
Pythagoreans,  whatever  that  meant.  Such  men  had  also 
their  irrationalities,  which  perhaps  made  up  the  major  part 
of  their  natures.  They  did  indeed  belong  to  those  centuries 
when  Astrology  flourished  at  the  imperial  Court,1  and  every 
mode  of  magic  mystery  drew  its  gaping  votaries ; when 
men  were  ravenously  drawing  toward  everything,  except  the 
plain  concrete  fact  steadily  viewed  and  quietly  reasoned  on. 

But  it  was  within  the  schools  of  Neo-Platonism,  in  the 
generations  after  Plotinus,  that  these  tendencies  flourished, 
beneath  the  shelter  of  his  elastic  principles.  Here  three 
kindred  currents  made  a resistless  stream : a transcendental, 
fact-compelling  dialectic;  unveiled  recognition  of  the  su- 
preme virtue  of  supra-rational  convictions  and  experiences ; 
and  an  asceticism  which  contemned  matter  and  abhorred  the 
things  of  sense.  What  more  was  needed  to  close  the  faculties 
of  observation,  befool  the  reason,  and  destroy  knowledge  in 
the  end? 

Porphyry  and  Iamblicus  show  the  turning  of  the  tide. 
The  first  of  these  was  a Tyrian,  learned,  intelligent,  austere. 
His  life  extends  from  about  the  year  232  to  the  year  300. 

1 From  the  reign  of  Augustus  onward,  Astrology  flourished  as  never  before. 
See  Habler,  Astrologie  im  Alterthum,  p.  23  sqq.  (Zwickau,  1879). 


CHAP.  Ill 


GREEK  ANTECEDENTS 


45 


His  famous  Introduction  to  the  Categories  of  Aristotle  was 
a corner-stone  of  the  early  mediaeval  knowledge  of  logic. 
He  wrote  a keenly  rational  work  against  the  Christians,  in 
which  his  critical  acumen  pointed  out  that  the  Book  of 
Daniel  wras  not  composed  before  the  reign  of  Antiochus 
Epiphanes.  He  did  much  to  render  intelligible  the  writings 
of  his  master  Plotinus,  and  made  a compend  of  Neo- 
Platonism  in  the  form  of  Sentences.  These  survive,  as  well  as 
his  work  on  Abstinence  from  Eating  Flesh , and  other  treatises, 
allegorical  and  philosophic. 

He  was  to  Plotinus  as  Soul,  in  the  Neo-Platonic  system, 
was  to  Mind— Soul  which  somehow  was  darkly,  passionately 
tangled  in  the  body  of  which  it  was  the  living  principle. 
The  individual  soul  of  Porphyry  wrestled  with  all  the  matters 
which  the  mind  of  Plotinus  made  slight  account  of.  Plotinus 
lived  aloof  in  a region  of  metaphysics  warned  with  occasional 
ecstasy.  Porphyry,  willy  nilly,  was  drawn  down  to  life,  and 
suffered  all  the  pain  of  keen  mentality  when  limed  and  netted 
with  the  anxieties  of  common  superstitions.  He  was  forever 
groping  in  a murky  atmosphere.  He  could  not  clear  him- 
self of  credulity,  deny  and  argue  as  he  might.  Nor  could 
asceticism  pacify  his  mind.  Philosophically  he  followed 
Plotinus’s  teachings,  and  understood  them  too,  which  was  a 
marvel.  Many  of  his  own,  or  possibly  reflected,  thoughts 
are  excellent.  No  Christian  could  hold  a more  spiritual 
conception  of  sacrifice  than  Porphyry  when  thinking  of  the 
worship  of  the  Mind — the  Nous  or  Second  God.  Offer  to 
it  silence  and  chaste  thought,  which  will  unite  us  to  it,  and 
make  us  like  itself.  The  perfect  sacrifice  is  to  disengage 
the  soul  from  passions.1  What  could  be  finer?  And  again 
says  Porphyry : The  body  is  the  soul’s  garment,  to  be  laid 
aside ; the  wise  man  needs  only  God ; evil  spirits  have  no 
power  over  a pure  soul.  But,  but,  but — at  his  last  statement 
Porphyry’s  confidence  breaks.  He  is  worried  because  it  is 
so  hard  to  know  the  good  from  evil  demons ; and  the  latter 
throng  the  temples,  and  must  be  exorcised  before  the  true 
God  will  appear.  This  same  man  had  said  that  God’s  true 
temple  was  the  wise  man’s  soul ! Alas ! Porphyry’s  nature 
reeks  with  contradictions.  His  letter  to  the  Egyptian  priest, 

1 De  abstinentia,  ii.  34. 


46 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


Anebo,  consists  of  sharply-put  questions  as  to  the  validity 
of  any  kind  of  theurgy  or  divination.  How  can  men  know 
anything  as  to  these  things?  What  reason  to  suppose  that 
this,  that,  or  the  other  rite — all  anxiously  enumerated — is 
rightly  directed  or  has  effect  ? None ! none ! none ! such 
is  the  answer  expected  by  the  questions. 

But  Porphyry’s  own  soul  answers  otherwise.  His  works 
— the  De  abstinentia  for  example — team  with  detailed  and 
believing  discussion  of  every  kind  of  theurgic  practice  and 
magic  rite,  whereby  the  divine  and  demonic  natures  may  be 
moved.  He  believed  in  oracles  and  sorcery.  Vainly  did 
the  more  keenly  intellectual  side  of  his  nature  seek  to  hold 
such  matters  at  arm’s  length ; his  other  instincts  hungered 
for  them,  craved  to  touch  and  taste  and  handle,  as  the  child 
hankers  for  what  is  forbidden.  There  is  angel-lore,  but 
far  more  devil-lore,  in  Porphyry,  and  below  the  earth  the 
demons  have  their  realm,  and  at  their  head  a demon-king. 
Thus  organized,  these  malformed  devil-shapes  torment  the 
lives  of  men,  malignant  deceivers,  spiteful  trippers  up,  as 
they  are. 

Such  a man  beset  by  demons  (which  his  intelligence 
declares  to  have  no  power  over  him!),  such  a man,  austere 
and  grim,  would  practice  fanatically  the  asceticism  recognized 
so  calmly  by  the  system  of  Plotinus.  With  Porphyry, 
strenuously,  anxiously,  the  upper  grades  of  virtue  become 
violent  purification  and  detachment  from  things  of  sense. 
Here  he  is  in  grim  earnest. 

It  is  wonderful  that  this  man  should  have  had  a critical 
sense  of  historic  fact,  as  when  he  saw  the  comparatively  late 
date  of  the  Book  of  Daniel.  He  could  see  the  holes  in 
others’  garments.  But  save  for  some  such  polemic  purpose, 
the  bare,  crude  fact  interests  him  little.  He  is  an  elaborate 
fashioner  of  allegory,  and  would  so  interpret  the  fictions  of 
the  poets.  Plotinus,  when  it  suited  him,  had  played  with 
myths,  like  Plato.  No  such  light  hand,  and  scarcely  con- 
cealed smile,  has  Porphyry.  As  for  physical  investigations, 
they  interest  him  no  more  seriously  than  they  did  his  master, 
and  when  he  touches  upon  natural  fact  he  is  as  credulous 
as  Pliny.  ‘The  Arabians,”  says  he,  “understand  the  speech 
of  crows,  and  the  Tyrrhenians  that  of  eagles;  and  perhaps 


CHAP.  Ill 


GREEK  ANTECEDENTS 


47 


we  and  all  men  would  understand  all  living  beings  if  a 
dragon  licked  our  ears.”  1 

These  inner  conflicts  darkened  Porphyry’s  life,  and  doubt- 
less made  some  of  the  motives  which  were  turning  his 
thoughts  to  suicide,  when  Plotinus  showed  him  that  this  was 
not  the  true  way  of  detachment.  There  was  no  conflict, 
but  complete  surrender,  and  happy  abandonment  in  Iam- 
blicus  the  Divine  (Oeios)  who  when  he  prayed  might  be 
lifted  ten  cubits  from  the  ground — so  thought  his  disciples — 
and  around  whose  theurgic  fingers,  dabbling  in  a magic  basin 
of  water,  Cupids  played  and  kissed  each  other.  His  life,  told 
by  the  Neo-Platonic  biographer,  Eunapius,  is  as  full  of 
miracle  as  the  contemporary  Life  of  St.  Anthony  by  Athana- 
sius. Iarnblicus  floats  before  us  a beautiful  and  marvel- 
lously garbed  priest,  a dweller  in  the  recesses  of  temples. 
He  frankly  gave  himself  to  theurgy,  convinced  that  the  Soul 
needs  the  aid  of  every  superhuman  being — hero,  god,  demon, 
angel.2  He  was  credulous  on  principle.  It  is  of  first 
importance,  he  writes,  that  the  devotee  should  not  let  the 
marvellous  character  of  an  occurrence  arouse  incredulity 
within  him.  He  needs  above  all  a “science”  {eTnarrj^ri) 
which  shall  teach  him  to  disbelieve  nothing  as  to  the  gods.3 
For  the  divine  principle  is  essentially  miraculous,  and  magic 
is  the  open  door,  yes,  and  the  way  up  to  it,  the  anagogic 
path. 

All  this  and  more  besides  is  set  forth  in  the  De  mysteriis, 
the  chief  composition  of  his  school.  It  was  the  answer  to 
that  doubting  letter  of  Porphyry  to  Anebo,  and  contains  full 
proof  and  exposition  of  the  occult  art  of  moving  god  or 
demon.  We  all  have  inborn  knowledge  (e/i^vrov  7 v&ctls;)  4 
of  the  gods.  But  it  is  not  thought  or  contemplation  that 
unites  us  to  them ; it  is  the  power  of  the  theurgic  rite  or 
cabalistic  word,  understood  only  by  the  gods.  We  cannot 
understand  the  reason  of  these  acts  and  their  effects.5 

There  is  no  lower  depth.  Plotinus’s  reason-surpassing 

1 De  abstinentia , iii.  4. 

2 Porphyry  before  him  had  spoken  of  angels  and  archangels,  which  he  had  found 
in  Jewish  writings. 

3 For  authorities  cited,  see  Zeller,  Gesch.  der  Phil,  iii.2  p.  686. 

4 De  mysteriis,  i.  3. 

5 Ibid.  ii.  3,  9. 


48 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


vision  of  the  One  (which  represents  in  him  the  principle  of 
irrationality)  is  at  last  brought  down  to  the  irrational  act, 
the  occult  magic  deed  or  word.  Truly  the  worshipper  needs 
his  best  credulity — which  is  bespoken  by  Iamblicus  and  by 
this  book.  The  work  seems  to  argue,  somewhat  obscurely, 
that  the  prayer  or  invocation  or  rite  does  not  actually  draw 
the  god  to  us,  but  draws  us  toward  the  god,  making  our 
wills  fit  to  share  in  his.  The  writer  of  such  a work  is  likely 
to  be  confused  in  his  statement  of  principles;  but  will 
expand  more  genially  when  expounding  the  natures  of 
demons,  heroes,  angels,  and  gods,  and  the  effect  of  them 
upon  humanity.  Perhaps  the  matter  still  seems  dark ; but 
the  picturesque  details  are  bright  enough.  For  the  writer 
describes  the  manifestations  and  apparitions  of  these  beings 
— their  em^aveLai  and  cpaa/iaTa . The  apparitions  of  the 
gods  are  ixovoeihr),  simple  and  uniform : those  of  the  demons 
are  ttouciXci,  that  is,  various  and  manifold ; those  of  the 
angels  are  more  simple  than  those  of  the  demons,  but 
inferior  to  those  of  the  gods.  The  archangels  in  their 
apparitions  are  more  like  the  gods;  while  the  apxovres,  the 
“ governors,”  have  variety  and  yet  order.  The  gods  as  they 
appear  to  men,  are  radiant  with  divine  effulgence,  the  arch- 
angels terrible  yet  kind ; the  demons  are  frightful,  producing 
perturbation  and  terror — on  all  of  which  the  work  enlarges. 
Speaking  more  specifically  of  the  effect  of  these  apparitions 
on  the  thaumaturgist,  the  writer  says  that  visions  of  the 
gods  bring  a mighty  power,  and  divine  love  and  joy  in- 
effable ; the  archangels  bring  steadfastness  and  power  of 
will  and  intellectual  contemplation ; the  angels  bring 
rational  wisdom  and  truth  and  virtue.  But  the  vision  of 
demons  brings  the  desires  of  sense  and  the  vigour  to  fulfil 
them. 

So  low  sank  Neo-Platonism  in  pagan  circles.  Of  course 
it  did  not  create  this  mass  of  superstitious  fantasy.  It  merely 
accepted  it,  and  over  every  superstition  flung  the  justi- 
fication of  its  principles.  In  the  process  it  changed  from  a 
philosophy  to  a system  of  theurgic  practice.  The  common 
superstitions  of  the  time,  or  their  like,  were  old  enough. 
But  now  — and  here  was  the  portentous  fact — they  had 
wound  themselves  into  the  natures  of  intellectual  people; 


CHAP.  Ill 


GREEK  ANTECEDENTS 


49 


and  Neo-Platonism  represents  the  chief  formal  facilitation  of 
this  result. 

A contemporary  phenomenon,  and  perhaps  the  most 
popular  of  pagan  cults  in  the  third  and  fourth  centuries,  was 
the  worship  of  Mithra,  around  which  Neo-Platonism  could 
throw  its  cloak  as  well  as  around  any  other  form  of  pagan 
worship.  Mithraism,  a partially  Hellenized  growth  from  the 
old  Mazdaean  (even  Indo-Iranian)  faith,  had  been  carried 
from  one  boundary  of  the  Empire  to  the  other,  by  soldiers 
or  by  merchants  who  had  imbibed  its  doctrines  in  the  East. 
It  shot  over  the  Empire  like  a flame.  A warrior  cult,  the 
late  pagan  emperors  gave  it  their  adhesion.  It  was,  in  fine, 
the  pagan  Antaeus  destined  to  succumb  in  the  grasp  of  the 
Christian  Hercules. 

With  it,  or  after  it,  came  Manicheism,  also  from  the 
East.  This  was  quite  as  good  a philosophy  as  the  Neo- 
Platonism  of  Iamblicus.  The  system  called  after  Manes  was 
a crass  dualism,  containing  fantastic  and  largely  borrowed 
speculation  as  to  the  world  and  man.  Satan  was  there  and 
all  his  devils.  He  was  the  begetter  of  mankind,  in  Adam. 
But  Satan  himself,  in  previous  struggles  with  good  angels, 
had  gained  some  elements  of  light;  and  these  passed  into 
Adam’s  nature.  Eve,  however,  is  sensuality.  After  man’s 
engendering,  the  strife  begins  between  the  good  and  evil 
spirits  to  control  his  lot.  In  ethics,  of  course,  Manicheism 
was  dualistic  and  ascetic,  like  Neo-Platonism,  also  like 
the  Christianity  of  the  Eastern  and  Western  Empire. 
Manicheism,  unlike  Mithraism,  was  not  to  succumb,  but 
merely  to  retreat  before  Christianity.  Again  and  again 
from  the  East,  through  the  lower  confines  of  the  present 
Russia,  through  Hungary,  it  made  advance.  The  Bogomiles 
were  its  children;  likewise  the  Cathari  in  the  north  of  Italy, 
and  the  Albigenses  of  Provence. 

The  insistence  of  the  problem  of  evil  and  the  drift  to 
dualism  were  likewise  marked  in  the  Gnostic  creeds,  which 
consisted  chiefly  of  Persian  and  Neo-Hellenic  elements,  but 
were  affiliated  with  Christianity  by  the  yearning  for  salva- 
tion and  drawn  to  the  Christian  pale  (though  not  within  it) 
by  the  figure  of  the  Saviour.  The  appeal  of  these  oriental 

1 Cf.  Dollinger,  Sektengeschichte. 


VOL.  I 


E 


5° 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


cults,  speaking  generally,  was  personal  rather  than  civic. 
Careless  of  the  State,  they  offered  to  the  individual  the 
means  of  purification  from  the  defilements  of  matter  and 
assured  him  of  eternal  bliss.1 

Platonism,  Stoicism,  Neo-Platonism,  Mithraism,  Maniche- 
ism,  and  Gnosticism,  these  names,  taken  for  simplicity’s 
sake,  serve  to  indicate  the  mind  and  temper  of  the  educated 
world  in  which  Christianity  was  spreading.  Obviously  the 
Christian  Fathers’  ways  of  thinking  were  given  by  all  that 
made  up  their  environment,  their  education,  their  second 
natures.  They  were  men  of  their  period,  and  as  Christians 
their  intellectual  standards  did  not  rise  nor  their  under- 
standing of  fact  alter,  although  their  approvals  and  dis- 
approvals might  be  changed.  Their  natures  might  be 
stimulated  and  uplifted  by  the  Faith  and  its  polemic  ardours, 
and  yet  their  manner  of  approaching  and  apprehending  facts, 
its  facts,  for  example,  might  continue  substantially  those  of 
their  pagan  contemporaries  or  predecessors. 

In  the  fourth  century  the  leaders  of  the  Church  both  in 
the  East  and  West  were  greater  men  than  contemporary 
pagan  priests  or  philosophers  or  rhetoricians.  For  the 
strongest  minds  had  enlisted  on  the  Christian  side,  and  a 
great  cause  inspired  their  highest  energies  with  an  efficient 
purpose.  There  is  no  comparison  between  Athanasius, 
Basil,  Gregory  Nazianzen,  Gregory  of  Nyssa  and  Chrysostom 
in  the  East;  Ambrose,  Jerome,  and  Augustine  in  the  West; 
and  pagans,  like  Libanius,  the  favourite  of  the  Emperor 
Julian,  or  even  Julian  himself,  or  Symmachus,  the  opponent 
of  St.  Ambrose  in  the  cause  of  the  pagan  Altar  of  Victory. 
That  was  a lost  cause,  and  the  cause  of  paganism  was 
becoming  more  and  more  broken,  dissipated,  uninspiring. 
Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  the  superiority  of  the  Christian 
doctors,  in  spite  also  of  the  mighty  cause  which  marshalled 
their  endeavours  so  efficiently,  they  present,  both  in  their 
higher  intelligence  and  their  lower  irrationalities,  abundant 
likeness  to  the  pagans. 

It  has  appeared  that  metaphysical  interests  absorbed  the 
attention  of  Plotinus,  who  has  nevertheless  his  supreme 
irrationality  atop  of  all.  Porphyry  also  possessed  a strong 

1 See  Fr.  Cumont,  Oriental  Religions  in  Roman  Paganism. 


CHAP.  Ill 


GREEK  ANTECEDENTS 


5i 


reasoning  nature,  but  was  drawn  irresistibly  to  all  the  things, 
gods,  demons,  divination  and  theurgy,  of  which  one  half  of 
him  disapproved.  Plotinus,  quite  in  accordance  with  his 
philosophic  principles,  has  an  easy  contempt  for  physical  life. 
With  Porphyry  this  has  become  ardent  asceticism.  It  was 
also  remarked  that  Plotinus’s  system  was  a synthesis  of  much 
antecedent  thought;  and  that  its  receptivity  was  rendered 
extremely  elastic  by  the  Neo-Platonic  principle  that  man’s 
ultimate  approach  to  God  lay  through  ecstasy  and  not 
through  reason.  Herein,  rather  latent  and  not  yet  sorely 
taxed,  was  a broad  justification  of  common  beliefs  and 
practices.  To  all  these  Iamblicus  gladly  opened  the  door. 
Rather  than  a philosopher,  he  was  a priest,  a thaumaturgist 
and  magician.  Finally,  it  is  obvious  that  neither  Iamblicus 
nor  Porphyry  nor  Plotinus  was  primarily  or  even  seriously 
interested  in  any  clear  objective  knowledge  of  material  facts. 
Plotinus  merely  noticed  them  casually  in  order  to  illustrate 
his  principles,  while  Iamblicus  looked  to  them  for  miracles. 

Christianity  as  well  as  Neo-Platonism  was  an  expression 
of  the  principle  that  life’s  primordial  reality  is  spirit.  And 
likewise  with  Christians,  as  with  Neo-Platonists,  phases  of 
irrationality  may  be  observed  in  ascending  and  descending 
order.  At  the  summit  the  sublimest  Christian  supra- 
rationality,  the  love  of  God,  uplifts  itself.  From  that  height 
the  irrational  conviction  grades  down  to  credulity  pre- 
occupied with  the  demoniacal  and  miraculous.  Fruitful 
comparisons  may  be  drawn  between  Neo-Platonists  and 
Christian  doctors. 

Origen  (d.  253),  like  Plotinus  of  Coptic  descent,  and 
the  most  brilliant  genius  of  the  Eastern  Church,  was  by  some 
fifteen  years  the  senior  of  the  Neo-Platonist.  It  is  not  certain 
that  either  of  them  directly  influenced  the  other.  In 
intellectual  power  the  two  were  peers.  Both  were  absorbed 
in  the  higher  phases  of  their  thought,  but  neither  excluded 
the  more  popular  beliefs  from  the  system  which  he  was 
occupied  in  constructing.  Plotinus  had  no  mind  to  shut  the 
door  against  the  beliefs  of  polytheism ; and  Origen  accepted 
on  his  part  the  demons  and  angels  of  current  Christian 
credence.1  In  fact,  he  occupied  himself  with  them  more 

1 See  Origen,  De  principiis,  iii.  2. 


52 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


than  Plotinus  did  with  the  gods  of  the  Hellenic  pantheon. 
Of  course  Origen,  like  every  other  Christian  doctor,  had  his 
fundamental  and  saving  irrationality  in  his  acceptance  of  the 
Christian  revelation  and  the  risen  Christ.  This  had  already 
taken  its  most  drastic  form  in  the  credo  quia  absurdum  of 
Tertullian  the  Latin  Father,  who  was  twenty-five  years  his 
senior.  Herein  one  observes  the  acceptance  of  the  miracu- 
lous on  principle.  That  the  great  facts  of  the  Christian  creed 
were  beyond  the  proof  or  disproof  of  reason  was  a principle 
definitely  accepted  by  all  the  Fathers. 

Further,  since  all  Catholic  Christians  accepted  the 
Scriptures  as  revealed  truth,  they  were  obliged  to  accept 
many  things  which  their  reason,  unaided,  might  struggle 
with  in  vain.  Here  was  a large  opportunity,  as  to  which 
Christians  would  act  according  to  their  tempers,  for 
emphasizing  and  amplifying  the  authoritative  or  miraculous, 
i.e.  irrational,  element.  And  besides,  outside  even  of  these 
Scriptural  matters  and  their  interpretations,  there  would  be 
the  general  question  of  the  educated  Christian’s  interest 
in  the  miraculous.  Great  mental  power  and  devotion  to 
the  construction  of  dogma  by  no  means  precluded  a lively 
interest  in  this,  as  may  be  seen  in  that  very  miraculous  life 
of  St.  Anthony,  written  probably  by  Athanasius  himself. 
This  biography  is  more  preoccupied  with  the  demoniacal 
and  miraculous  than  Porphyry’s  Life  of  Plotinus;  indeed 
in  this  respect  it  is  not  outdone  by  Eunapius’s  Life  of 
Iamblicus.  Turning  to  the  Latin  West,  one  may  compare 
with  them  that  charming  prototypal  Vita  Sancti,  the  Life 
of  St.  Martin  by  Sulpicius  Severus.1  A glance  at  these 
writings  shows  a similarity  of  interest  with  Christian  and 
Neo-Platonist,  and  in  both  is  found  the  same  unquestioning 
acceptance  of  the  miraculous. 

Thus  one  observes  how  the  supernatural  manifestation, 
the  miraculous  event,  was  admitted  and  justified  on  principle 
in  both  the  Neo-Platonic  and  the  Christian  system.  In 
both,  moreover,  metaphysical  or  symbolizing  tendencies  had 
withdrawn  attention  from  a close  scrutiny  of  any  fact, 

1 The  Athanasian  Vita  Antonii  is  in  Migne,  Pair.  Graec,  26,  and  trans.  in 
Nicene  Fathers,  second  series,  iv.  The  Vita  S.  Martini  is  in  Halm’s  ed.  of  Sulp.  Severus 
(Vienna,  1866),  and  in  Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  20,  and  trans.  in  Nicene  Fathers,  second 
series,  xi. 


CHAP.  Ill 


GREEK  ANTECEDENTS 


53 


observed,  imagined,  or  reported.  With  both,  the  primary 
value  of  historical  or  physical  fact  lay  in  its  illumination 
of  general  convictions  or  accepted  principles.  And  with 
both,  the  supernatural  fact  was  the  fact  par  excellence , in  that 
it  was  the  direct  manifestation  of  the  divine  or  spiritual 
power. 

Iamblicus  had  announced  that  man  must  not  be  in- 
credulous as  to  superhuman  beings  and  their  supernatural 
doings.  On  the  Christian  side,  there  was  no  bit  of  popular 
credence  in  miracle  or  magic  mystery,  or  any  notion  as  to 
devils,  angels,  and  departed  saints,  for  which  justification 
could  not  be  found  in  the  writings  of  the  great  Doctors  of 
the  Church.  These  learned  and  intellectual  men  evinced 
different  degrees  of  interest  in  such  matters;  but  none 
stands  altogether  aloof,  or  denies  in  toto.  No  evidence  is 
needed  here.  A broad  illustration,  however,  lies  in  the 
fact  that  before  the  fourth  century  the  chief  Christian  rites 
had  become  sacramental  mysteries,  necessarily  miraculous 
in  their  nature  and  their  efficacy.  This  was  true  of  Baptism  ; 
it  was  more  stupendously  true  of  the  Eucharist.  Mystically, 
but  none  the  less  really,  and  above  all  inevitably,  the  bread 
and  wine  have  miraculously  become  the  body  and  the 
blood.  The  process,  one  may  say,  began  with  Origen ; 
with  Cyril  of  Jerusalem  it  is  completed ; Gregory  of  Nyssa 
regards  it  as  a continuation  of  the  verity  of  the  Incarnation, 
and  Chrysostom  is  with  him.1  One  pauses  to  remark  that 
the  relationship  between  the  pagan  and  Christian  mysteries 
was  not  one  of  causal  antecedence  so  much  as  one  of 
analogous  growth.  A pollen  of  terms  and  concepts  blew 
hither  and  thither,  and  effected  a cross-fertilization  of 
vigorously  growing  plants.  The  life-sap  of  the  Christian 
mysteries,  as  with  those  of  Mithra  or  the  Gnostics,  was 
the  passion  for  a symbolism  of  the  unknown  and  the  in- 
expressible. 

But  one  must  not  stop  here.  The  whole  Christian 
Church,  as  well  as  Porphyry  and  Iamblicus,  accepted 
angels  and  devils,  and  recognized  their  intervention  or 
interference  in  human  affairs.  Then  displacing  the  local 

1 See  Harnack,  Dogmengeschichte,  ii.  413  sqq.,  especially  432  sqq.  Also  Taylor, 
Classical  Heritage,  pp.  94-97. 


54 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


pagan  divinities  come  the  saints,  and  Mary  above  all.  They 
are  honoured,  they  are  worshipped.  Only  an  Augustine 
has  some  gentle  warning  to  utter  against  carrying  these 
matters  to  excess. 

In  connection  with  all  this,  one  may  notice  an  illuminat- 
ing point,  or  rather  motive.  In  the  third  and  fourth 
centuries  the  common  yearning  of  the  Graeco-Roman  world 
was  for  an  approach  to  God ; it  was  looking  for  the  anagogic 
path,  the  way  up  from  man  and  multiplicity  to  unity  and 
God.  An  absorbing  interest  was  taken  in  the  means. 
Neo-Platonism,  the  creature  of  this  time,  whatever  else 
it  was,  was  mediatorial,  a system  of  mediation  between 
man  and  the  Absolute  First  Principle.  Passing  halfway 
over  from  paganism  to  Christianity,  the  Celestial  Hierarchy 
of  Pseudo-Dionysius  is  also  essentially  a system  of  media- 
tion, which  has  many  affinities  (as  well  it  might !)  with  the 
system  of  Plotinus.1  Within  Catholic  Christianity  the  great 
work  of  Athanasius  was  to  establish  Christ’s  sole  and  all- 
sufficient  mediation.  Catholicism  was  permanently  set  upon 
the  mediatorship  of  Christ,  God  and  man,  the  one  God-man 
reconciling  the  nature  which  He  had  veritably,  and  not 
seemingly,  assumed,  to  the  divine  substance  which  He  had 
never  ceased  to  be.  Athanasius’s  struggle  for  this  principle 
was  bitter  and  hard-pressed,  because  within  Christianity  as 
well  as  without,  men  were  demanding  easier  and  more 
tangible  stages  and  means  of  mediation. 

Of  such,  Catholic  Christianity  was  to  recognize  a vast 
multitude,  perhaps  not  dogmatically  as  a necessary  part  of 
itself ; but  practically  and  universally.  Angels,  saints,  the 
Virgin  over  all,  are  mediators  between  man  and  God.  This 
began  to  be  true  at  an  early  period,  and  was  established 
before  the  fourth  century.2  Moreover,  every  bit  of  rite 
and  mystery  and  miracle,  as  in  paganism,  so  in  Catholicism, 
was  essentially  a means  of  mediation,  a way  of  bringing 

1 In  cap.  iii.  § 2 of  the  Celestial  Hierarchy,  Pseudo-Dionysius  says  that  the  goal 
of  his  system  is  the  becoming  like  to  God  and  oneness  with  Him  Oj  n-po?  Oe'ov  a$o/u.<uWi? 
re  Kal  eVw<ris).  He  classifies  his  “celestial  intelligences”  even  more  systematically  than 
the  De  mystcriis  of  Iamblicus’s  school.  His  work  is  full  of  Neo-Platonism.  Cf.  Vacherot, 
Historie  de  Vecole  d’ Alexandria,  iii.  24  sqq. 

2 The  cult  of  the  Virgin  and  the  saints  was  of  very  early  growth.  See  Lucius, 
Die  Anfdnge  des  Heiligen  Kults  in  der  christlichen  Kirche  (ed.  by  Anrich,  Tubingen, 
1904). 


CHAP.  Ill 


GREEK  ANTECEDENTS 


55 


the  divine  principle  to  bear  on  man  and  his  affairs,  and  so 
of  bringing  man  within  the  sphere  of  the  divine  efficiency. 

Let  us  make  some  further  Christian  comparisons  with 
our  Neo-Platonic  friends  Plotinus,  Porphyry,  and  Iamblicus. 
As  we  have  adduced  Origen,  it  would  also  be  easy  to  find 
other  parallels  from  the  Eastern  Church.  But  as  the  purpose 
is  to  mark  the  origin  of  the  intellectual  tendencies  of  the 
Western  Middle  Ages,  we  may  at  once  draw  examples  from 
the  Latin  Fathers.  For  their  views  set  the  forms  of 
mediaeval  intellectual  interests,  and  for  centuries  directed 
and  even  limited  the  mediaeval  capacity  for  apprehending 
whatever  it  was  given  to  the  Middle  Ages  to  set  themselves 
to  know.  To  pass  thus  from  the  East  to  the  West  is  per- 
missible, since  the  same  pagan  cults  and  modes  of  thought 
passed  from  one  boundary  of  the  Empire  to  the  other. 
Plotinus  himself  lived  and  taught  in  Rome  for  the  last 
twenty-five  years  of  his  life,  and  there  wrote  his  Enneads 
in  Greek.  So  on  the  Christian  side,  the  Catholic  Church 
throughout  the  East  and  West  presents  a solidarity  of 
development,  both  as  to  dogma  and  organization,  and  also 
as  to  popular  acceptances. 

Let  us  train  our  attention  upon  some  points  of  likeness 
between  Plotinus  and  St.  Augustine.  The  latter’s  teachings 
contain  much  Platonism ; and  with  this  greatest  of  Latin 
Fathers,  who  did  not  read  much  Greek,  Platonism  was 
inextricably  mingled  with  Neo-Platonism.  It  is  possible  to 
search  the  works  of  Augustine  and  discover  this,  that,  or  the 
other  statement  reflecting  Plato  or  Plotinus.1  Yet  their 
most  interesting  effect  on  Augustine  will  not  be  found  in 
Platonic  theorems  consciously  followed  or  abjured  by  the 
latter.  Platonism  was  “in  the  air,”  at  least  was  in  the 
air  breathed  by  an  Augustine.  He  knew  little  of  Plato’s 
writings.  But  Plato  had  lived : his  thoughts  had  influenced 
many  generations,  and  in  their  diffusion  had  been  modified, 
and  had  lost  many  a specific  feature.  Thereafter  Plotinus 
had  constructed  Neo-Platonism ; that  too  had  permeated 
the  minds  of  many,  itself  loosened  in  the  process.  These 
views,  these  phases  of  thought  and  mood,  were  held  or  felt 

1 See,  e.g.,  Grandgeorge,  St.  Augustin  et  le  Neoplatonisme  (Paris,  1896).  Or 
perhaps  statements  impregnated  with  the  Manicheism  which  he  had  abjured. 


56 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


by  many  men,  who  may  not  have  known  their  source. 
And  Augustine  was  not  only  part  of  all  this,  but  in  mind 
and  temper  was  Platonically  inclined.  Thus  the  most 
important  elements  of  Platonism  and  Neo-Platonism  in 
Augustine  were  his  cognate  spiritual  mood  and  his  attitude 
toward  the  world  of  physical  fact. 

Note  the  personal  affinity  between  Augustine  and  Plotinus. 
Both  are  absorbed  in  the  higher  pointings  of  their  thought; 
neither  is  much  occupied  with  its  left-handed  relationships, 
which,  however,  are  by  no  means  to  be  disowned.  The 
minds  and  souls  of  both  are  set  upon  God  the  Spirit;  the 
minds  and  eyes  of  both  are  closed  to  the  knowledge  of 
the  natural  world.  Thus  neither  Plotinus  nor  Augustine 
was  much  affected  by  the  popular  beliefs  of  Christianity 
or  paganism.  The  former  cared  little  for  demon-lore  or 
divination,  and  was  not  seriously  touched  by  polytheism. 
No  more  was  the  latter  affected  by  the  worship  of  saints  and 
relics,  or  by  other  elements  of  Christian  credulity,  which 
when  brought  to  his  attention  pass  from  his  mind  as  quickly 
as  his  duties  of  Christian  bishop  will  permit. 

But  it  was  half  otherwise  with  Porphyry,  and  altogether 
otherwise  with  Iamblicus.  The  first  of  these  was  drawn, 
repelled,  and  tortured  by  the  common  superstitions,  especially 
the  magic  and  theurgy  which  made  men  gape ; but  Iamblicus 
gladly  sported  in  these  mottled  currents.  On  the  Christian 
side,  Jerome  might  be  compared  with  them,  or  a later  man, 
the  last  of  the  Latin  Fathers,  Gregory  the  Great.  Clear  as 
was  the  temporal  wisdom  of  this  great  pope,  and  heavy  as 
were  his  duties  during  the  troubled  times  of  his  pontificate 
(590-604),  still  his  mind  was  busy  with  the  miraculous  and 
diabolic.  His  mind  and  temperament  have  absorbed  at  least 
the  fruitage  of  prior  superstitions,  whether  Christian  or  pagan 
need  not  be  decided.  He  certainly  was  not  influenced  by 
Iamblicus.  Nor  need  one  look  upon  these  phases  of  his 
nature  as  specifically  the  result  of  the  absorption  of  pagan 
elements.  He  and  his  forbears  had  but  gone  the  path  of 
credulity  and  mortal  blindness,  thronged  by  both  pagans  and 
Christians.  And  so  in  Gregory  the  tendencies  making  for 
intellectual  obliquity  do  their  perfect  work.  His  religious 
dualism  is  strident;  his  resultant  ascetism  is  extreme;  and 


CHAP.  Ill 


GREEK  ANTECEDENTS 


57 


finally  the  symbolical,  the  allegorical,  habit  has  shut  his 
mind  to  the  perception  of  the  literal  (shall  we  say,  actual) 
meaning,  when  engaged  with  Scripture,  as  his  great  Com- 
mentary on  Job  bears  witness.  The  same  tendencies,  but 
usually  in  milder  type,  had  shown  themselves  with  Augustine, 
who,  in  these  respects,  stands  to  Gregory  as  Plotinus  to 
Iambiicus.  Augustine  can  push  allegory  to  absurdity;  he 
can  be  ascetic;  he  is  dualistic.  But  all  these  things  have 
not  barbarized  his  mind,  as  they  have  Gregory’s.1  Similarly 
the  elements,  which  in  Plotinus’s  personality  were  held  in 
innocuous  abeyance,  dominated  the  entire  personality  of 
Iamblicus  and  made  him  a high  priest  of  folly. 

Thus  we  have  observed  the  phases  of  thought  which  set 
the  intellectual  conditions  of  the  later  pagan  times,  and 
affected  the  mental  processes  of  the  Latin  Fathers.  The 
matter  may  be  summarized  briefly  in  conclusion.  Platonism 
had  created  an  intellectual  and  intelligible  world,  wherein  a 
dissolving  dialectic  turned  the  cognition  of  material  phe- 
nomena into  a reflection  of  the  mind’s  ideals.  This  was  more 
palpable  in  Neo-Platonism  than  it  had  been  in  Plato’s  system. 

Stoicism  on  the  other  hand  represented  a rule  of  life,  the 
sanction  of  which  was  inner  peace.  Its  working  principle 
was  the  rightly  directed  action  of  the  self-controlling  will. 
Fundamentally  ethical,  it  set  itself  to  frame  a corresponding 
conception  of  the  universe.  Platonism  and  Neo-Platonism 
found  in  material  facts  illustrations  or  symbols  of  ideal 
truths  and  principles  of  human  life.  Stoicism  was  interested 
in  them  as  affording  a foundation  for  ethics.  None  of  these 
systems  was  seriously  interested  in  facts  apart  from  their 
symbolical  exemplification  of  truth,  or  their  bearing  on  the 
conduct  of  life;  and  the  same  principles  that  affected  the 
observation  of  nature  were  applied  to  the  interpretation  of 
myth,  tradition,  and  history. 

In  the  opening  centuries  of  the  Christian  Era  the  world 
was  becoming  less  self-reliant.  It  was  tending  to  look  to 
authority  for  its  peace  of  mind.  In  religion  men  not  only 
sought,  as  formerly,  for  superhuman  aid,  but  were  reaching 
outward  for  what  their  own  rational  self-control  no  longer 
gave.  They  needed  not  merely  to  be  helped  by  the  gods, 

1 On  Gregory,  see  post,  Chapter  V. 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


58 

but  to  be  sustained  and  saved.  Consequently,  prodigious 
interest  was  taken  in  the  means  of  bringing  man  to  the 
divine,  and  obtaining  the  saving  support  which  the  gods 
alone  could  give.  The  philosophic  thought  of  the  time 
became  palpably  mediatorial.  Neo-Platonism  was  a system 
of  mediation  between  man  and  the  Absolute  First  Principle 
and  soon  its  lower  phases  became  occupied  with  such 
palpable  means  as  divination  and  oracles,  magic  and 
theurgy. 

The  human  reason  has  always  proved  unable  to  effect 
this  mediation  between  man  and  God.  The  higher  Neo- 
Platonism  presented  as  the  furthest  goal  a supra-rational  and 
ecstatic  vision.  This  was  its  union  with  the  divine.  The 
lower  Neo-Platonism  turned  this  lofty  supra-rationality  into 
a principle  of  credulity  more  and  more  agape  for  fascinat- 
ing or  helpful  miracles.  Thus  a constant  looking  for  divine 
or  demonic  action  became  characteristic  of  the  pagan 
intelligence. 

The  Gospel  of  Christ,  in  spreading  throughout  the  pagan 
world,  was  certain  to  gather  to  itself  the  incidents  of  its 
apprehension  by  pagans,  and  take  various  forms,  one  of 
which  was  to  become  the  dominant  or  Catholic.  Conversely, 
Christians  (and  we  have  in  mind  the  educated  people)  would 
retain  their  methods  of  thinking  in  spite  of  change  in  the 
contents  of  their  thought.  This  would  be  true  even  of  the 
great  and  learned  Christian  leaders,  the  Fathers  of  the 
Church.  At  the  same  time  the  Faith  reinspired  and  re- 
directed their  energies.  Yet  (be  it  repeated  for  the  sake  of 
emphasis)  their  mental  processes,  their  ways  of  apprehending 
and  appreciating  facts,  would  continue  those  of  that  paganism 
which  in  them  had  changed  to  Christianity. 

Every  phase  of  intellectual  tendency  just  summarized  as 
characteristic  of  the  pagan  world,  entered  the  modes  in  which 
the  Fathers  of  the  Latin  Church  apprehended  and  built  out 
their  new  religion.  First  of  all,  the  attitude  toward  know- 
ledge. No  pagan  philosophy,  not  Platonism  or  any  system 
that  came  after  it,  had  afforded  an  incentive  for  concen- 
tration of  desire  equal  to  that  presented  in  the  person  and 
the  precepts  of  Jesus.  The  desire  of  the  Kingdom  of 
Heaven  was  a master-motive  such  as  no  previous  idealism  had 


CHAP.  Ill 


GREEK  ANTECEDENTS 


59 


offered.  It  would  bring  into  conformity  with  itself  not  only 
all  the  practical  considerations  of  life,  but  verily  the  whole 
human  desire  to  know.  First  it  mastered  the  mind  of 
Tertullian ; and  in  spite  of  variance  and  deviation  it  endured 
through  the  Middle  Ages  as  the  controlling  principle  of 
intellectual  effort.  Its  decree  was  this : the  knowledge 
which  men  need  and  should  desire  is  that  which  will  help 
them  to  save  and  perfect  their  souls  for  the  Kingdom  of 
God.  Some  would  interpret  this  broadly,  others  narrowly; 
some  would  actually  be  constrained  by  it,  and  others  merely 
do  it  a polite  obeisance.  But  it  was  acknowledged  by  well- 
nigh  all  men,  according  to  their  individual  tempers  and  the 
varying  times  in  which  they  lived. 

Platonism  was  an  idealistic  cosmos;  Stoicism  a cosmos 
of  subjective  ethics  and  teleological  conceptions  of  the 
physical  world.  The  furthest  outcome  of  both  might  be 
represented  by  Augustine’s  cosmos  of  the  soul  and  God. 
As  for  reasoning  processes,  inwardly  inspired  and  then 
applied  to  the  world  of  nature  and  history,  Christianity 
combined  the  idealizing,  fact-compelling  ways  of  Platonic 
dialectic  with  the  Stoical  interest  in  moral  edification.  And, 
more  utterly  than  either  Platonist  or  Stoic,  the  Christian 
Father  lacked  interest  in  knowledge  of  the  concrete  fact  for 
its  own  sake.  His  mental  glance  was  even  more  oblique 
than  theirs,  fixed  as  it  was  upon  the  moral  or  spiritual  — 
the  anagogic — inference.  Of  course  he  carried  symbolism 
and  allegory  further  than  Stoic  and  Platonist  had  done,  one 
reason  being  that  he  was  impelled  by  the  specific  motive 
of  harmonizing  the  Old  Testament  with  the  Gospel,  and 
thereby  proving  the  divine  mission  of  Jesus. 

Idealism  might  tend  toward  dualistic  ethics,  and  issue  in 
asceticism,  as  was  the  tendency  in  Stoicism  and  the  open 
result  with  Plotinus  and  his  disciples.  Such,  with  mightier 
power  and  firmer  motive,  was  the  outcome  of  Christian 
ethics,  in  monasticism.  Christianity  was  not  a dualistic 
philosophy;  but  neither  was  Stoicism  nor  Neo-Platonism. 
Yet,  like  them,  it  was  burningly  dualistic  in  its  warfare 
against  the  world,  the  flesh  and  the  devil. 

We  turn  to  other  but  connected  matters : salvation, 
mediatorship,  theory  and  practice.  The  need  of  salvation 


6o 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


made  men  Christians ; the  God-man  was  the  one  and 
sufficient  mediator  between  man  and  God.  Such  was  the 
high  dogma,  established  with  toil  and  pain.  And  the 
practice  graded  downward  to  mediatorial  persons,  acts,  and 
things,  marvellous,  manifold,  and  utterly  analogous  to  their 
pagan  kin.  The  mediatorial  persons  were  the  Virgin  and 
the  saints;  the  sacraments  were  the  magic  mediatorial  acts; 
the  relic  was  the  magic  mediatorial  thing.  And,  as  with 
Neo-Platonism,  there  was  in  Christianity  a principle  of  supra- 
rational  belief  in  all  these  matters.  At  the  top  the  revela- 
tion of  Christ,  and  the  high  love  of  God  which  He  inspired. 
This  was  not  set  on  reason,  but  above  it.  And,  as  with 
Neo-Platonism,  the  supra-rational  principle  of  Christianity 
was  led  down  through  conduits  of  credulity,  resembling  those 
we  have  become  familiar  with  in  our  descent  from  Plotinus 
to  Iamblicus. 


CHAPTER  IV 


INTELLECTUAL  INTERESTS  OF  THE  LATIN  FATHERS 

So  it  was  that  the  intellectual  conditions  of  the  Roman 
Empire  affected  the  attitude  of  the  Church  Fathers  toward 
knowledge,  and  determined  their  ways  of  apprehending  fact. 
There  was,  indeed,  scarcely  a spiritual  tendency  or  way  of 
thinking,  in  the  surrounding  paganism,  that  did  not  enter 
their  mental  processes  and  make  part  of  their  understanding 
of  Christianity.  On  the  other  hand,  the  militant  and 
polemic  position  of  the  Church  in  the  Empire  furnished  new 
interests,  opened  new  fields  of  effort,  and  produced  new 
modes  of  intellectual  energy.  And  every  element  emanating 
from  the  pagan  environment  was,  on  entering  the  Christian 
pale,  reinspired  by  Christian  necessities  and  brought  into  a 
working  concord  with  the  master-motive  of  the  Faith. 

Salvation  was  the  master  Christian  motive.  The  Gospel 
of  Christ  was  a gospel  of  salvation  unto  eternal  life.  It 
presented  itself  in  the  self-sacrifice  of  divine  love,  not  without 
warnings  touching  its  rejection.  It  was  understood  and 
accepted  according  to  the  capacities  of  those  to  whom  it  was 
offered,  capacities  which  it  should  reinspire  and  direct  anew, 
and  yet  not  change  essentially.  The  young  Christian  com- 
munities had  to  adjust  their  tempers  to  the  new  Faith. 
They  also  fell  under  the  unconscious  need  of  defining  it,  in 
order  to  satisfy  their  own  intelligence  and  present  it  in  a 
valid  form  to  the  minds  of  men  as  yet  unconverted.  Conse- 
quently, the  new  Gospel  of  Salvation  drew  the  energies  of 
Christian  communities  to  the  work  of  defining  that  which 
they  had  accepted,  and  of  establishing  its  religious  and 
rational  validity.  The  intellectual  interests  of  these  com- 
munities were  first  unified  by  the  master-motive  of  salvation, 

61 


62 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


and  then  ordered  and  redirected  according  to  the  doctrinal 
and  polemic  exigencies  of  this  new  Faith  precipitated  into 
the  Graeco-Roman  world. 

The  intellectual  interests  of  the  Christian  Fathers  are 
not  to  be  classified  under  categories  of  desire  to  know,  for 
the  sake  of  knowledge,  but  under  categories  of  desire  to 
be  saved,  and  to  that  end  possess  knowledge  in  its  saving 
forms.  Their  desire  was  less  to  know,  than  to  know  how — 
how  to  be  saved  and  contribute  to  the  salvation  of  others. 
Their  need  rightly  to  understand  the  Faith,  define  it  and 
maintain  it,  was  of  such  drastic  power  as  to  force  into 
ancillary  roles  every  line  of  inquiry  and  intellectual  effort. 
This  need  inspired  those  central  intellectual  labours  of 
the  Fathers  which  directly  made  for  the  Faith’s  dogmatic 
substantiation  and  ecclesiastical  supremacy;  and  then  it 
mastered  all  provinces  of  education  and  inquiry  which  might 
seem  to  possess  independent  intellectual  interest.  They 
were  either  to  be  drawn  to  its  support  or  discredited  as 
irrelevant  distractions. 

This  compelling  Christian  need  did  not,  in  fact,  impress 
into  its  service  the  total  sum  of  intellectual  interests  among 
Christians.  Mortal  curiosity  survived,  and  the  love  of  belles 
lettres.  Yet  its  dominance  was  real.  The  Church  Fathers 
wTere  absorbed  in  the  building  up  of  Christian  doctrine 
and  ecclesiastical  authority.  The  productions  of  Christian 
authorship  through  the  first  four  centuries  were  entirely 
religious,  so  far  as  the  extant  works  bear  witness.  This  is 
true  of  both  the  Greek  and  the  Latin  Fathers,  and  affords  a 
prodigious  proof  that  the  inspiration  and  the  exigencies  of 
the  new  religion  had  drawn  into  one  spiritual  vortex  the 
energies  and  interests  of  Christian  communities. 

Some  of  the  Fathers  have  left  statements  of  their 
principles,  coupled  with  more  or  less  intimate  accounts  of 
their  own  spiritual  attitude.  Among  the  Eastern  Christians 
Origen  has  already  been  referred  to.  With  him  Christianity 
was  the  sum  of  knowledge ; and  his  life’s  endeavour  was 
to  realize  this  view  by  co-ordinating  all  worthy  forms  of 
knowledge  within  the  scheme  of  salvation  through  Christ. 
His  mind  was  imbued  with  a vast  desire  to  know.  This  he 
did  not  derive  from  Christianity.  But  his  understanding  of 


CHAP.  IV 


THE  PATRISTIC  MIND 


63 


Christianity  gave  him  the  schematic  principle  guiding  his 
inquiries.  His  aim  was  to  direct  his  labours  with  Christianity 
as  an  end — t€\lkws  ek  xplo-tlglvktflov,  as  he  says  so  preg- 
nantly. He  would  use  Greek  philosophy  as  a propaedeutic 
for  Christianity ; he  would  seek  from  geometry  and  astronomy 
what  might  serve  to  explain  Scripture ; and  so  with  all 
branches  of  learning.1 

This  was  the  expression  of  a mind  of  prodigious  energy. 
For  more  personal  disclosures  we  may  turn  at  once  to  the 
Latin  Fathers.  Hilary,  Bishop  of  Poictiers  (d.  367),  was  a 
foremost  Latin  polemicist  against  the  Arians  in  the  middle 
of  the  fourth  century.  He  was  born  a pagan;  and  in  the 
introductory  book  to  his  chief  work,  the  De  Trinitate , he 
tells  how  he  turned,  with  all  his  intellect  and  higher  aspira- 
tions, to  the  Faith.  Taking  a noble  view  of  human  nature, 
he  makes  bold  to  say  that  men  usually  spurn  the  sensual 
and  material,  and  yearn  for  a more  worthy  life.  Thus  they 
have  reached  patience,  temperance,  and  other  virtues,  be- 
lieving that  death  is  not  the  end  of  all.  He  himself,  how- 
ever, did  not  rest  satisfied  with  the  pagan  religion  or  the 
teachings  of  pagan  philosophers ; but  he  found  doctrines  to 
his  liking  in  the  books  of  Moses,  and  then  in  the  Gospel  of 
John.  It  was  clear  to  him  that  prophecy  led  up  to  the 
revelation  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  in  that  at  length  he  gained  a 
safe  harbour.  Thus  Hilary  explains  that  his  better  aspira- 
tions had  led  him  on  and  upward  to  the  Gospel ; and  when 
he  had  reached  that  end  and  unification  of  spiritual  yearning, 
it  was  but  natural  that  it  should  thenceforth  hold  the  sum 
of  his  intellectual  interests. 

A like  result  appears  with  greater  power  in  Augustine. 
His  Confessions  give  the  mode  in  which  his  spiritual  progress 
presented  itself  to  him  some  time  after  he  had  become 
a Catholic  Christian.2  His  whole  life  sets  forth  the  same 
theme,  presenting  the  religious  passion  of  the  man  drawing 
into  itself  his  energies  and  interests.  God  and  the  Soul — 
these  two  would  he  know,  and  these  alone.  But  these 
alone  indeed ! As  if  they  did  not  embrace  all  life  pointed 
and  updrawn  toward  its  salvation.  God  was  the  over- 


1 Epistola  ad  Gregorium  Thaumaturgum. 

2 Cf.  Boissier,  Fin  du  paganisme. 


64 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


mastering  object  of  intellectual  interest  and  of  passionate 
love.  All  knowledge  should  direct  itself  toward  knowing 
Him.  By  grace,  within  God’s  light  and  love,  was  the  Soul, 
knower  and  lover,  expectant  of  eternal  life.  Nothing  that 
was  transient  could  be  its  chief  good,  or  its  good  at  all 
except  so  far  as  leading  on  to  its  chief  good  of  salvation, 
life  eternal  in  and  through  the  Trinity.  One  may  read 
Augustine’s  self-disclosures  or  the  passages  containing 
statements  of  the  ultimate  religious  principles  whereby  he 
and  all  men  should  live,  or  one  may  proceed  to  examine 
his  long  life  and  the  vast  entire  product  of  his  labour.  The 
result  will  be  the  same.  His  whole  strength  will  be  found 
devoted  to  the  cause  of  Catholic  Church  and  Faith ; and  all 
his  intellectual  interests  will  be  seen  converging  to  that  end. 
He  writes  nothing  save  with  Catholic  religious  purpose ; 
and  nothing  in  any  of  his  writings  had  interest  for  the 
writer  save  as  it  bore  upon  that  central  aim.  He  may  be 
engaged  in  a great  work  of  ultimate  Christian  doctrine,  as 
in  his  De  Trinitate;  he  may  be  involved  in  controversy 
with  Manichean,  with  Donatist  or  Pelagian ; he  may  be 
offering  pastoral  instruction,  as  in  his  many  letters ; he  may 
survey,  as  in  the  Civitas  Dei , the  whole  range  of  human  life 
and  human  knowledge ; but  never  does  his  mind  really  bear 
away  from  its  master-motive. 

The  justification  for  this  centring  of  human  interests 
and  energies  lay  in  the  nature  of  the  summum  bonum  for 
man.  According  to  the  principles  of  the  City  of  God , 
eternal  life  is  the  supreme  good  and  eternal  death  the 
supreme  evil.  Evidently  no  temporal  satisfaction  or 
happiness  compares  with  the  eternal.  This  is  good  logic ; 
but  it  is  enforced  with  arguments  drawn  from  the  Christian 
temper,  which  viewed  earth  as  a vale  of  tears.  The  deep 
Catholic  pessimism  toward  mortal  life  is  Augustine’s  in  full 
measure!  “Quis  enim  sufficit  quantovis  eloquentiae  flumine, 
vitae  hu  us  miserias  explicare?”  Virtue  itself,  the  best  of 
mortal  goods,  does  nothing  here  on  earth  but  wage  perpetual 
war  with  vices.  Though  man’s  life  is  and  must  be  social, 
how  filled  is  it  with  distress ! The  saints  are  blessed  with 
hope.  And  mortal  good  which  has  not  that  hope  is  a false 
joy  and  a great  misery.  For  it  lacks  the  real  blessedness  of 


CHAP.  IV 


THE  PATRISTIC  MIND 


65 


the  soul,  which  is  the  true  wisdom  that  directs  itself  to  the 
end  where  God  shall  be  all  in  all  in  eternal  certitude  and 
perfect  peace.  Here  our  peace  is  with  God  through  faith; 
and  yet  is  rather  a solatium  miseriae  than  a gaudium  beati- 
tudinis , as  it  will  be  hereafter.  But  the  end  of  those  who 
do  not  belong  to  the  City  of  God  will  be  miseria  sempiterna , 
which  is  also  called  the  second  death,  since  the  soul  alienated 
from  God  cannot  be  said  to  live,  nor  that  body  be  said  to 
live  which  is  enduring  eternal  pains.1  Augustine  devotes  a 
whole  book,  the  twenty-first,  to  an  exposition  of  the  sempi- 
ternal, non-purgatorial,  punishment  of  the  damned,  whom 
the  compassionate  intercession  of  the  saints  will  not  save, 
nor  many  other  considerations  which  have  been  deemed 
eventually  saving  by  the  fondly  lenient  opinions  of  men. 
His  views  were  as  dark  as  those  of  Gregory  the  Great. 
Only  imaginative  elaboration  was  needed  to  expand  them 
to  the  full  compass  of  mediaeval  fear. 

Augustine  brought  all  intellectual  interests  into  the 
closure  of  the  Christian  Faith,  or  discredited  whatever 
stubbornly  remained  without.  He  did  the  same  with  ethics. 
For  he  transformed  the  virtues  into  accord  with  his  Catholic 
conception  of  man’s  chief  good.  That  must  consist  in 
cleaving  to  what  is  most  blessed  to  cleave  to,  which  is  God. 
To  Him  we  can  cleave  only  through  dilectio , amor,  and 
charitas.  Virtue  which  leads  us  to  the  vita  beata  is  nothing 
but  summus  amor  Dei.  So  he  defines  the  four  cardinal 
virtues  anew.  Temperance  is  love  keeping  itself  whole  and 
incorrupt  for  God ; fortitude  is  love  easily  bearing  all  things 
for  God’s  sake;  justice  is  love  serving  God  only,  and  for 
that  reason  rightly  ruling  in  the  other  matters,  which  are 
subject  to  man ; and  prudence  is  love  well  discriminating 
between  what  helps  and  what  impedes  as  to  God  (in  deum).2 
Conversely,  the  heathen  virtues,  as  the  heathen  had  in  fact 
conceived  them,  were  vices  rather  than  virtues  to  Augustine. 
For  they  lacked  knowledge  of  the  true  God,  and  therefore 
were  affected  with  fundamental  ignorance,  and  were  also 
tainted  with  pride.3  Through  his  unique  power  of  religious 

1 Civ.  Dei,  xxi.  caps.  49,  20,  27,  28. 

2 De  moribus  Ecclesiae,  14,  15;  cf.  Epist.  155,  §§  12,  13. 

s Civ.  Dei,  xix.  25. 


VOL.  I 


F 


66 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK 


perception,  Augustine  discerned  the  inconsistency  between 
pagan  ethics,  and  the  Christian  thoughts  of  divine  grace 
moving  the  humbly  and  lovingly  acceptant  soul. 

The  treatise  on  Christian  Doctrine  clearly  expresses 
Augustine’s  views  as  to  the  value  of  knowledge.  He  starts, 
in  his  usual  way,  from  a fundamental  principle,  which  is 
here  the  distinction  between  the  use  of  something  for  a 
purpose  and  the  enjoyment  of  something  in  and  for  itself. 
“To  enjoy  is  to  cleave  fast  in  the  love  of  a thing  for  its 
own  sake.  But  to  use  is  to  employ  a thing  in  obtaining 
what  one  loves.”  For  an  illustration  he  draws  upon  that 
Christian  sentiment  which  from  the  first  had  made  the 
Christian  feel  as  a sojourner  on  earth.1 

“It  is  as  if  we  were  sojourners  unable  to  live  happily  away 
from  our  own  country,  and  we  wished  to  use  the  means  of 
journeying  by  land  and  sea  to  end  our  misery  and  return  to  our 
fatherland,  which  is  to  be  enjoyed.  But  the  charm  of  the  journey 
or  the  very  movement  of  the  vehicle  delighting  us,  we  are  taken  by 
a froward  sweetness  and  become  careless  of  reaching  our  own 
country  whose  sweetness  would  make  us  happy.  Now  if,  journey- 
ing through  this  world,  away  from  God,  we  wish  to  return  to  our 
own  land  where  we  may  be  happy,  this  world  must  be  used,  not 
enjoyed;  that  the  invisible  things  of  God  may  be  apprehended 
through  those  created  things  before  our  eyes,  and  we  may  gain  the 
eternal  and  spiritual  from  the  corporeal  and  temporal.” 

From  this  illustration  Augustine  leaps  at  once  to  his 
final  inference  that  only  the  Trinity — Father,  Son,  and 
Holy  Spirit — is  to  be  enjoyed.2  It  follows  as  a corollary 
that  the  important  knowledge  for  man  is  that  which  will 
bring  him  to  God  surely  and  for  eternity.  Such  is  knowledge 
of  Holy  Writ  and  its  teachings.  Other  knowledge  is  valuable 
as  it  aids  us  to  this. 

Proceeding  from  this  point  of  view,  Augustine  speaks 
more  specifically.  To  understand  Scripture  one  needs  to 
know  the  words  and  also  the  things  referred  to.  Knowledge 
of  the  latter  is  useful,  because  it  sheds  light  on  their 
figurative  significance.  For  example,  to  know  the  serpent’s 

1 See  Clement  of  Rome,  Ep.  to  the  Corinthians  (a.d.  cir.  92),  opening  passage, 
and  notes  in  Lightfoot’s  edition. 

2 De  doc.  Chris,  i.  4,  5. 


CHAP.  IV 


THE  PATRISTIC  MIND 


67 


habit  of  presenting  its  whole  body  to  the  assailant,  in  order 
to  protect  its  head,  helps  to  understand  our  Lord’s  command 
to  be  wise  as  serpents,  and  for  the  sake  of  our  Head,  which 
is  Christ,  present  our  whole  bodies  to  the  persecutors.  Again, 
the  statement  that  the  serpent  rids  itself  of  its  skin  by 
squeezing  through  a narrow  hole,  accords  with  the  Scriptural 
injunction  to  imitate  the  serpent’s  wisdom,  and  put  off  the 
old  man  that  we  may  put  on  the  new,  and  in  a narrow  place : 
— Enter  ye  in  at  the  strait  gate,  says  the  Lord.1  The 
writer  gives  a rule  for  deciding  whether  in  any  instance  a 
literal  or  figurative  interpretation  of  Scripture  should  be 
employed,  a rule  representing  a phase  of  the  idealizing  way 
of  treating  facts  which  began  with  Plato  or  before  him,  and 
through  many  channels  entered  the  practice  of  Christian 
doctors.  “ Whatever  in  the  divine  word  cannot  properly 
be  referred  to  morum  honestas  or  fidei  veritas  is  to  be 
taken  figuratively.  The  first  pertains  to  love  of  God  and 
one’s  neighbour;  the  second  to  knowing  God  and  one’s 
neighbour.”  2 

Augustine  then  refers  to  matters  of  human  invention, 
like  the  letters  of  the  alphabet,  which  are  useful  to  know. 
History  also  is  well,  as  it  helps  us  to  understand  Scripture ; 
and  a knowledge  of  physical  objects  will  help  us  to  under- 
stand the  Scriptural  references.  Likewise  a moderate  know- 
ledge of  rhetoric  and  dialectic  enables  one  the  better  to  under- 
stand and  expound  Scripture.  Some  men  have  made  useful 
vocabularies  of  the  Scriptural  Hebrew  and  Syriac  words 
and  compends  of  history,  which  throw  light  on  Scriptural 
questions.  So,  to  save  Christians  from  needless  labour,  I 
think  it  would  be  well  if  some  one  would  make  a general 
description  of  unknown  places,  animals,  plants,  and  minerals, 
and  other  things  mentioned  in  Scripture ; and  the  same 
might  be  done  as  to  the  numbers  which  Scripture  uses. 
These  suggestions  were  curiously  prophetic.  Christians  were 
soon  to  produce  just  such  compends,  as  will  be  seen  when 
noticing  the  labours  of  Isidore  of  Seville.3  Augustine  speaks 
sometimes  in  scorn  and  sometimes  in  sorrow  of  those  who 
remain  ignorant  of  God,  and  learn  philosophies,  or  deem 

2 De  doc.  Chris,  iii.  cap.  io  sqq. 

1 Post,  Chapter  V. 


1 De  doc.  Chris,  ii.  16. 


68 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


that  they  achieve  something  great  by  curiously  examining 
into  that  universal  mass  of  matter  which  we  call  the 
world.1 

Augustine’s  word  and  his  example  sufficiently  attest  the 
fact  that  the  Christian  Faith  constituted  the  primary  intel- 
lectual interest  with  the  Fathers.  While  not  annihilating 
other  activities  of  the  mind,  this  dominant  interest  lowered 
their  dignity  by  forcing  them  into  a common  subservience. 
Exerting  its  manifold  energies  in  defining  and  building  out 
the  Faith,  in  protecting  it  from  open  attack  or  insidious 
corruption,  it  drew  to  its  exigencies  the  whole  strength  of  its 
votaries.  There  resulted  the  perfected  organization  of  the 
Catholic  Church  and  the  production  of  a vast  doctrinal 
literature.  The  latter  may  be  characterized  as  constructive 
of  dogma,  theoretically  interpretative  of  Scripture,  and 
polemically  directed  against  pagans,  Jews,  heretics  or  schis- 
matics, as  the  case  might  be. 

It  was  constructive  of  dogma  through  the  intellectual 
necessity  of  apprehending  the  Faith  in  concepts  and  modes 
of  reasoning  accepted  as  valid  by  the  Graeco-Roman  world. 
In  the  dogmatic  treatises  emanating  from  the  Hellenic  East, 
the  concepts  and  modes  of  reasoning  were  those  of  the  later 
phases  of  Greek  philosophy.  Prominent  examples  are  the 
De  principiis  of  Origen  or  the  Orationes  of  Athanasius  against 
the  Arians.  For  the  Latin  West,  Tertullian’s  Adversus 
Marcionem  or  the  treatises  of  Hilary  and  Augustine  upon 
the  Trinity  serve  for  examples.  The  Western  writings  are 
distinguished  from  their  Eastern  kin  by  the  entry  of  the 
juristic  element,  filling  them  with  a mass  of  conceptions  from 
the  Roman  Law.2  They  also  develop  a more  searching 
psychology.  In  both  of  these  respects,  Tertullian  and 
Augustine  were  the  great  creators. 

Secondly,  this  literature,  at  least  in  theory,  was  inter- 
pretative or  expository  of  Scripture.  Undoubtedly  Origen 
and  Athanasius  and  Augustine  approached  the  Faith  with 
ideas  formed  from  philosophical  study  and  their  own 
reflections ; and  their  metaphysical  and  allegorical  treatment 

1 De  moribus  Ecclesiae,  21 ; Confessions,  v.  7;  x.  54-57. 

2 See  Harnack,  Dogmengeschichte,  in.  14  sqq. ; Taylor,  Classical  Heritage,  p. 
1 17  sqq. 


CHAP.  IV 


THE  PATRISTIC  MIND 


69 


of  Scripture  texts  elicited  a significance  different  from  the 
meaning  which  we  now  should  draw.  Yet  Christianity  was 
an  authoritatively  revealed  religion,  and  the  letter  of  that 
revelation  was  Holy  Scripture,  to  wit,  the  gradually  formed 
canon  of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments.  If  the  reasoning 
or  conclusions  which  resulted  in  the  Nicene  Creed  were  not 
just  what  Scripture  would  seem  to  suggest,  at  all  events  they 
had  to  be  and  were  confirmed  by  Scripture,  interpreted,  to 
be  sure,  under  the  stress  of  controversy  and  the  influence  of 
all  that  had  gone  into  the  intellectual  natures  of  the  Greek 
and  Latin  Fathers.  And  the  patristic  faculty  of  doctrinal 
exposition,  that  is,  of  reasoning  constructively  along  the  lines 
of  Scriptural  interpretation,  was  marvellous.  Such  a writing 
as  Augustine’s  Anti-Pelagian  De  spiritu  et  litlera  is  a striking 
example. 

Moreover,  the  Faith,  which  is  to  say,  the  Scriptures  rightly 
interpreted,  contained  the  sum  of  knowledge  needful  for 
salvation,  and  indeed  everything  that  men  should  seek  to 
know.  Therefore  there  was  no  question  possessing  valid 
claim  upon  human  curiosity  which  the  Scriptures,  through 
their  interpreters,  might  not  be  called  upon  to  answer.  For 
example,  Augustine  feels  obliged  to  solve  through  Scriptural 
interpretation  and  inference  such  an  apparently  obscure 
question  as  that  of  the  different  degrees  of  knowledge  of  God 
possessed  by  demons  and  angels.1  Indeed,  many  an  un- 
answerable question  had  beset  the  ways  by  which  Augustine 
himself  and  other  doctors  had  reached  their  spiritual  harbour- 
age in  Catholic  Christianity.  They  sought  to  confirm  from 
Scripture  their  solutions  of  their  own  doubts.  At  all  events, 
from  Scripture  they  were  obliged  to  answer  other  questioners 
seeking  instruction  or  needing  refutation.2 

Thirdly,  it  is  too  well  known  to  require  more  than  a mere 
reminder,  that  dogmatic  treatises  commonly  were  con- 
troversial or  polemic,  directed  against  pagans  or  Jews,  or 

1 Civ.  Dei,  ix.  21,  22;  cf.  Civ.  Dei,  xvi.  6-9. 

2 Civ.  Dei,  book  xii.,  affords  a discussion  of  such  questions,  e.g.  why  was  man 
created  when  he  was,  and  not  before  or  , afterwards.  All  these  matters  entered 
into  the  discussion  of  the  mediaeval  philosophers,  Thomas  Aquinas,  for  example. 

Besides  these  dogmatic  treatises,  in  which  Scriptural  texts  were  called  upon 
at  least  for  confirmation,  the  Fathers,  Greek  and  Latin,  composed  an  enormous  mass 
of  Biblical  commentary,  chiefly  allegorical,  following  the  chapter  and  verse  of  the 
canonical  writings. 


7o 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


Gnostics  or  Manicheans,  or  against  Arians  or  Montanists 
or  Donatists.  Practically  all  Christian  doctrine  was  of 
militant  growth,  advancing  by  argumentative  denial  and 
then  by  counter-formulation. 

As  already  noticed  at  some  length,  the  later  phases  of 
pagan  philosophic  inquiry  had  other  motives  besides  the  wish 
for  knowledge.  These  motives  were  connected  with  man’s 
social  welfare  or  his  relations  with  supernatural  powers.  The 
Stoical  and  Epicurean  interest  in  knowledge  had  a practical 
incentive.  And  Neo-Platonism  was  a philosophy  of  saving 
union  with  the  divine,  rather  than  an  open-minded  search 
for  ultimate  knowledge.  But  no  Hellenic  or  quasi-Roman- 
ized  philosophy  so  drastically  drew  all  subjects  of  specu- 
lation and  inquiry  within  the  purview  and  dominance  of  a 
single  motive  at  once  intellectual  and  emotional  as  the 
Christian  Faith. 

Naturally  the  surviving  intellectual  ardour  of  the  Graeco- 
Roman  world  passed  into  the  literature  of  Christian  doctrine. 
For  example,  the  Faith,  with  its  master-motive  of  salvation, 
drew  within  its  work  of  militant  formulation  and  pertinent 
discussion  that  round  of  intellectual  interest  and  energy 
which  had  issued  in  Neo-Platonism.  Likewise  such  ethical 
earnestness  as  had  come  down  through  Stoicism  was  drawn 
within  the  master  Christian  energy.  And  so  far  as  any 
interest  survived  in  zoology,  or  physics  or  astronomy,  it  also 
was  absorbed  in  curious  Christian  endeavours  to  educe  an 
edifying  conformity  between  the  statements  or  references  of 
Scripture  and  the  round  of  phenomena  of  the  natural  world. 
Then  history  likewise  passed  from  heathenism  to  the  service 
of  the  Church,  and  became  polemic  narrative,  or  filled  itself 
with  edifying  tales,  mostly  of  miracles. 

In  fine,  no  branch  of  human  inquiry  or  intellectual 
interest  was  left  unsubjugated  by  the  dominant  motives 
of  the  Faith.  First  of  all,  philosophy  itself — the  general 
inquiry  for  final  knowledge — no  longer  had  an  independent 
existence.  It  had  none  with  Hilary,  none  with  Ambrose,  and 
none  whatsoever  with  Augustine  after  he  became  a Catholic 
Christian.  Patristic  philosophy  consisted  in  the  formulation 
of  Christian  doctrine,  which  in  theory  was  an  eliciting  of  the 
truth  of  Scripture.  It  embodied  the  substantial  results,  or 


CHAP.  IV 


THE  PATRISTIC  MIND 


71 


survivals  if  one  will,  of  Greek  philosophy,  so  far  as  it  did  not 
controvert  and  discard  them.  As  for  the  reasoning  process, 
the  dialectic  whereby  such  results  were  reached,  as  distin- 
guished from  the  results  themselves,  that  also  passed  into 
doctrinal  writings.  The  great  Christian  Fathers  were  masters 
of  it.  Augustine  recognized  it  as  a proper  tool;  but  like 
other  tools  its  value  was  not  in  itself  but  in  its  usefulness] 
As  a tool,  dialectic,  or  logic  as  it  has  commonly  been  called, 
was  to  preserve  a distinct,  if  not  independent,  existence. 
Aristotle  had  devoted  to  it  a group  of  special  treatises.1 
No  one  had  anything  to  add  to  this  Organon,  or  Aristotelian 
tool,  which  was  to  be  preserved  in  Latin  by  the  Boethian 
translations.2  No  attempt  was  made  to  supplant  them  with 
Christian  treatises. 

So  it  was  with  elementary  education.  The  grammarians, 
Servius,  Priscianus,  and  probably  Donatus,  were  pagans. 
As  far  as  concerned  grammatical  and  rhetorical  studies,  the 
Fathers  had  to  admit  that  the  best  theory  and  examples 
were  in  pagan  writings.  It  also  happened  that  the  book 
which  was  to  become  the  common  text-book  of  the  Seven 
Arts  was  by  a pagan,  of  Neo-Platonic  views.  This  was  the 
De  nuptiis  Philologiae  et  Mercurii,  by  Martianus  Capella.3 
Possibly  some  good  Christian  of  the  time  could  have 
composed  a worse  book,  or  at  least  one  somewhat  more 
deflected  from  the  natural  objects  of  primary  education. 
But  the  De  nuptiis  is  astonishingly  poor  and  dry.  The 
writer  was  an  unintelligent  compiler,  who  took  his  matter 
not  from  the  original  sources,  but  from  compilers  before  him, 
Varro  above  all.  Capella  talks  of  Eratosthenes,  Hipparchus, 
Euclid,  Ptolemy ; but  if  he  had  ever  read  them,  it  was  to 
little  profit.  Book  VI.,  for  example,  is  occupied  with 
“Geometria.”  The  first  part  of  it  is  simply  geography; 
then  come  nine  pages4  of  geometry,  consisting  of  defini- 
tions, with  a few  axioms ; and  then,  instead  of  following 


1 See  ante,  p.  37.  2 See  post,  p.  92. 

3 The  substance  of  Capella’s  book  is  framed  in  an  allegorical  narrative  of  the 

Marriage  of  Philology  and  Mercury.  For  a nuptial  gift,  the  groom  presents  the  bride 
with  seven  maid-servants,  symbolizing  the  Seven  Liberal  Arts — Grammar,  Rhetoric, 
Dialectic,  Arithmetic,  Geometry,  Astronomy,  Music.  Cf.  Taylor,  Classical  Heritage, 
etc.,  p.  49  sqq. 

4 In  Eyssenhardt’s  edition. 


72 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


with  theorems,  the  maid,  who  personifies  “ Geometria,” 
presents  as  a bridal  offering  the  books  of  Euclid,  amid  great 
applause.  Had  she  ever  opened  them,  one  queries.  Book 
VII.,  “Arithmetica,”  is  even  worse.  It  begins  with  the 
current  foolishness  regarding  the  virtues  and  interesting 
qualities  of  the  first  ten  numbers:  “How  shall  I com- 

memorate thee,  O Seven,  always  to  be  revered,  neither  be- 
gotten like  the  other  numbers,  nor  procreative,  a virgin  even 
as  Minerva  ?”  Capella  never  is  original.  From  Pythagoras 
on,  the  curiosities  of  numbers  had  interested  the  pagan  mind.1 
These  fantasies  gained  new  power  and  application  in  the 
writings  of  the  Fathers.  For  them,  the  numbers  used  in 
Scripture  had  prefigurative  significance.  Such  notions  came 
to  Christianity  from  its  environment,  and  then  took  on  a new 
apologetic  purpose.  Here  an  intellect  like  Augustine’s  is  no 
whit  above  its  fellows.  In  arguing  from  Scripture  numbers 
he  is  at  his  very  obvious  worst.2  Fortunately  the  coming 
time  was  to  have  better  treatises,  like  the  De  arithmetica  of 
Boethius,  which  was  quite  free  from  mysticism.  But  in 
Boethius’s  time,  as  well  as  before  and  after  him,  it  was  the 
allegorical  significance  of  numbers  apologetically  pointed 
that  aroused  deepest  interest. 

Astronomy  makes  one  of  Capella’s  seven  Artes.  His 
eighth  book,  a rather  abject  compilation,  is  devoted  to  it. 
His  matter,  of  course,  is  not  yet  Christianized.  But  Chris- 
tianity was  to  draw  Astronomy  into  its  service;  and  the 
determination  of  the  date  of  Easter  and  other  Church 
festivals  became  the  chief  end  of  what  survived  of  astro- 
nomical knowledge. 

The  patristic  attitude  toward  cosmogony  and  natural 
science  plainly  appears  in  the  Hexaemeron  of  St.  Ambrose.3 
This  was  a commentary  on  the  first  chapters  of  Genesis,  or 
rather  an  argumentative  exposition  of  the  Scriptural  account 
of  the  Creation,  primarily  directed  against  those  who  asserted 
that  the  world  was  uncreated  and  eternal.  As  one  turns 
the  leaves  of  this  writing,  it  becomes  clear  that  the  interest 

1 On  the  symbolism  of  Numbers  see  Cantor,  V orlesungen  iiber  Ges.  der  Mathe- 
matik,  2nd  ed.  95,  96,  146,  156,  529,  531. 

2 See  an  extraordinary  example  taken  from  the  treatise  against  Faustus,  post, 
Chapter  XXVIII.  Also  De  doc.  Chris,  ii.  16;  De  Trinitate,  iv.  4-6. 

3 Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  14,  col.  123-273.  Written  cir.  389. 


CHAP.  IV 


THE  PATRISTIC  MIND 


73 


of  Ambrose  is  always  religious,  and  that  his  soul  is  gazing 
beyond  the  works  of  the  Creation  to  another  world.  Physical 
phenomena  have  no  laws  for  him  except  the  will  of  God. 

“To  discuss  the  nature  and  position  of  the  earth,”  says  he, 
“does  not  help  us  in  our  hope  of  the  life  to  come.  It  is  enough  to 
know  what  Scripture  states,  ‘that  He  hung  up  the  earth  upon 
nothing’  (Job  xxvi.  7).  Why  then  argue  whether  He  hung  it  up 
in  air  or  upon  the  water,  and  raise  a controversy  as  to  how  the 
thin  air  could  sustain  the  earth ; or  why,  if  upon  the  waters,  the 
earth  does  not  go  crashing  down  to  the  bottom?  . . . Not 
because  the  earth  is  in  the  middle,  as  if  suspended  on  even  balance, 
but  because  the  majesty  of  God  constrains  it  by  the  law  of  His 
will,  does  it  endure  stable  upon  the  unstable  and  the  void.” 

The  archbishop  then  explains  that  God  did  not  fix  the 
earth’s  stability  as  an  artisan  would,  with  compass  and  level, 
but  as  the  Omnipotent,  by  the  might  of  His  command.  If 
we  would  understand  why  the  earth  is  unmoved,  we  must 
not  try  to  measure  creation  as  with  a compass,  but  must  look 
to  the  will  of  God  : “ voluntate  Dei  immobilis  manet  et  stat  in 
saeculum  terra.”  And  again  Ambrose  asks,  Why  argue  as 
to  the  elements  which  make  the  heaven  ? Why  trouble 
oneself  with  these  physical  inquiries?  “ Suffice th  for  our 
salvation,  not  such  disputation,  but  the  verity  of  the  precepts, 
not  the  acuteness  of  argument,  but  the  mind’s  faith,  so  that 
rather  than  the  creature,  we  may  serve  the  Creator,  who  is 
God  blessed  forever.” 1 

Thus  with  Ambrose,  the  whole  creation  springs  from  the 
immediate  working  of  God’s  inscrutable  will.  It  is  all 
essentially  a miracle,  like  those  which  He  wrought  in  after 
times  to  aid  or  save  men : they  also  were  but  operations  of 
His  will.  God  said  Fiat  lux , and  there  was  light.  Thus 
His  will  creates ; and  nature  is  His  work  ( opus  Dei  natura 
est).  And  God  said,  Let  there  be  a firmament  in  the  midst 
of  the  waters,  and  let  it  divide  the  waters  from  the  waters ; 
and  it  was  so.  “Hear  the  word,  Fiat.  His  will  is  the 
measure  of  things ; His  word  ends  the  work.”  The  division 
of  the  waters  above  and  beneath  the  firmament  was  a work 
of  His  will,  just  as  He  divided  the  waters  of  the  Red  Sea 
before  the  eyes  of  the  Jews  in  order  that  those  things  might 

1 Hex.  i.  cap.  6. 


74 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


be  believed  which  the  Jews  had  not  seen.  He  could  have 
saved  them  by  another  means.  The  fiat  of  God  is  nature’s 
strength  (virtus)  and  the  substance  of  its  endurance 
(diurnitatis  substantia)  so  long  as  He  wishes  it  to  continue 
where  He  has  appointed  it.1 

According  to  this  reasoning,  the  miracle,  except  for  its 
infrequency,  is  in  the  same  category  with  other  occurrences. 
Here  Ambrose  is  fully  supported  by  Augustine.  With  the 
latter,  God  is  the  source  of  all  causation : He  is  the  cause  of 

usual  as  well  as  of  extraordinary  occurrences,  i.e.  miracles. 
The  exceptional  or  extraordinary  character  of  certain 
occurrences  is  what  makes  them  miracles.2 

Here  are  fundamental  principles  of  patristic  faith.  The 
will  of  God  is  the  one  cause  of  all  things.  It  is  unsearch- 
able. But  we  have  been  taught  much  regarding  God’s  love 
and  compassionateness,  and  of  His  desire  to  edify  and  save 
His  people.  These  qualities  prompt  His  actions  toward 
them.  Therefore  we  may  expect  His  acts  to  evince  edifying 
and  saving  purpose.  All  the  narratives  of  Scripture  are  for 
our  edification.  How  many  mighty  saving  acts  do  they 
record,  from  the  Creation,  onward  through  the  story  of  Israel, 
to  the  birth  and  resurrection  of  Christ ! And  surely  God 
still  cares  for  His  people.  Nor  is  there  any  reason  to 
suppose  that  He  has  ceased  to  edify  and  save  them  through 
signs  and  wonders.  Shall  we  not  still  look  for  miracles 
from  His  grace  ? 

Thus  in  the  nature  of  Christianity,  as  a miraculously 
founded  and  revealed  religion,  lay  the  ground  for  expecting 
miracles,  or,  at  least,  for  not  deeming  them  unlikely  to  occur. 
And  from  all  sides  the  influences  which  had  been  obscuring 
natural  knowledge  conspired  to  the  same  result.  We  have 
followed  those  influences  in  pagan  circles  from  Plato  on 
through  Neo-Platonism  and  other  systems  current  in  the  first 
centuries  of  the  Christian  era.  We  have  seen  them  obliterate 
rational  conceptions  of  nature’s  processes  and  destroy  the 
interest  that  impels  to  unbiassed  investigation.  The  char- 
acter and  exigencies  of  the  Faith  intensified  the  operation 
of  like  tendencies  among  Christians.  Their  eyes  were  lifted 
from  the  earth.  They  were  not  concerned  with  its  transitory 

1 Hex.  ii.  caps.  2 ,3.  2 Aug.  De  Trinitate,  iii.  5-9. 


CHAP.  IV 


THE  PATRISTIC  MIND 


75 


things,  soon  to  be  consumed.  Their  hope  was  fixed  in  the 
assurance  of  their  Faith ; their  minds  were  set  upon  its 
confirmation.  They  and  their  Faith  seemed  to  have  no  use 
for  a knowledge  of  earth’s  phenomena  save  as  bearing 
illustrative  or  confirmatory  testimony  to  the  truth  of 
Scripture.  Moreover,  the  militant  exigencies  of  their 
situation  made  them  set  excessive  store  on  the  miraculous 
foundation  and  continuing  confirmation  of  their  religion. 

For  these  reasons  the  eyes  of  the  Fathers  were  closed  to 
the  natural  world,  or  at  least  their  vision  was  affected  with 
an  obliquity  parallel  to  the  needs  of  doctrine.  Any  veritable 
physical  or  natural  knowledge  rapidly  dwindled  among  them. 
What  remained  continued  to  exist  because  explanatory  of 
Scripture  and  illustrative  of  spiritual  allegories.  To  such 
an  intellectual  temper  nothing  seems  impossible,  provided  it 
accord,  or  can  be  interpreted  to  accord,  with  doctrines  elicited 
from  Scripture.  Soon  there  will  cease  to  exist  any  natural 
knowledge  sufficient  to  distinguish  the  normal  and  possible 
from  the  impossible  and  miraculous.  One  may  recall  how 
little  knowledge  of  the  physiology  and  habits  of  animals 
was  shown  in  Pliny’s  Natural  History } He  had  scarcely 
an  idea  of  what  was  physiologically  possible.  Personally, 
he  may  or  may  not  have  believed  that  the  bowels  of  the 
field-mouse  increase  in  number  with  the  waxing  of  the 
moon;  but  he  had  no  sufficiently  clear  appreciation  of  the 
causes  and  relations  of  natural  phenomena  to  know  that 
such  an  idea  was  absurd.  It  was  almost  an  accident,  whether 
he  believed  it  or  not.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  neither  Ambrose 
nor  Jerome  nor  Augustine  had  any  clearer  understanding  of 
such  things  than  Pliny.  They  had  read  far  less  about  them, 
and  knew  less  than  he.  Pliny,  at  all  events,  had  no  motive 
for  understanding  or  presenting  natural  facts  in  any  other 
way  than  as  he  had  read  or  been  told  about  them,  or  perhaps 
had  noticed  for  himself.  Augustine  and  Ambrose  had  a 
motive.  Their  sole  interest  in  natural  fact  lay  in  its  con- 
firmatory evidence  of  Scriptural  truth.  They  were  con- 
stantly impelled  to  understand  facts  in  conformity  with  their 
understanding  of  Scripture,  and  to  accept  or  deny  accord- 
ingly. Thus  Augustine  denies  the  existence  of  Antipodes, 


1 Ante,  p.  39  sqq. 


76 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


men  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  earth,  who  walk  with  their 
feet  opposite  to  our  own.1  That  did  not  harmonize  with  his 
general  conception  of  Scriptural  cosmogony. 

For  the  result,  one  can  point  to  a concrete  instance  which 
is  typical  of  much.  In  patristic  circles  the  knowledge  of  the 
animal  kingdom  came  to  be  represented  by  the  curious  book 
called  the  Physiologus.  It  was  a series  of  descriptions  of 
animals,  probably  based  on  stories  current  in  Alexandria, 
and  appears  to  have  been  put  together  in  Greek  early  in  the 
second  century.  Internal  evidence  has  led  to  the  supposition 
that  it  emanated  from  Gnostic  circles.  It  soon  came  into 
common  use  among  the  Greek  and  Latin  Fathers.  Origen 
draws  from  it  by  name.  In  the  West,  to  refer  only  to  the 
fourth  and  fifth  centuries,  Ambrose  seems  to  use  it  constantly, 
Jerome  occasionally,  and  also  Augustine. 

Well  known  as  these  stories  are,  one  or  two  examples 
may  be  given  to  recall  their  character : The  Lion  has  three 

characteristics ; as  he  walks  or  runs  he  brushes  his  footprints 
with  his  tail,  so  that  the  hunters  may  not  track  him.  This 
signifies  the  secrecy  of  the  Incarnation — of  the  Lion  of  the 
tribe  of  Judah.  Secondly,  the  Lion  sleeps  with  his  eyes 
open ; so  slept  the  body  of  Christ  upon  the  Cross,  while  His 
Godhead  watched  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Father.  Thirdly, 
the  lioness  brings  forth  her  cub  dead ; on  the  third  day 
the  father  comes  and  roars  in  its  face,  and  wakes  it  to  life. 
This  signifies  our  Lord’s  resurrection  on  the  third  day. 

The  Pelican  is  distinguished  by  its  love  for  its  young. 
As  these  begin  to  grow  they  strike  at  their  parents’  faces, 
and  the  parents  strike  back  and  kill  them.  Then  the 
parents  take  pity,  and  on  the  third  day  the  mother  comes 
and  opens  her  side  and  lets  the  blood  flow  on  the  dead 
young  ones,  and  they  become  alive  again.  Thus  God  cast 
off  mankind  after  the  Fall,  and  delivered  them  over  to 
death;  but  He  took  pity  on  us,  as  a mother,  for  by  the 
Crucifixion  He  awoke  us  with  His  blood  to  eternal  life. 

The  Unicorn  cannot  be  taken  by  hunters,  because  of  his 
great  strength,  but  lets  himself  be  captured  by  a pure 
virgin.  So  Christ,  mightier  than  the  heavenly  powers,  took 
on  humanity  in  a virgin’s  womb. 

1 Civ.  Dei,  xvi.  9. 


CHAP.  IV 


THE  PATRISTIC  MIND 


77 


The  Phoenix  lives  in  India,  and  when  five  hundred  years 
old  fills  his  wings  with  fragrant  herbs  and  flies  to  Heliopolis, 
where  he  commits  himself  to  the  flames  in  the  Temple  of  the 
Sun.  From  his  ashes  comes  a worm,  which  the  second  day 
becomes  a fledgling,  and  on  the  third  a full-grown  phoenix, 
who  flies  away  to  his  old  dwelling-place.  The  Phoenix  is 
the  symbol  of  Christ;  the  two  wings  filled  with  sweet- 
smelling herbs  are  the  Old  and  New  Testaments,  full  of 
divine  teaching.1 

These  examples  illustrate  the  two  general  characteristics 
of  the  accounts  in  the  Physiologus:  they  have  the  same 
legendary  quality  whether  the  animal  is  real  or  fabulous ; 
the  subjects  are  chosen,  and  the  accounts  are  shaped,  by 
doctrinal  considerations.  Indeed,  from  the  first  the  Phy- 
siologus seems  to  have  been  a selection  of  those  animal 
stories  which  lent  themselves  most  readily  to  theological 
application.  It  would  be  pointless  to  distinguish  between 
the  actual  and  fabulous  in  such  a book ; nor  did  the  minds 
of  the  readers  make  any  such  distinction.  For  Ambrose  or 
Augustine  the  importance  of  the  story  lay  in  its  doctrinal 
significance,  or  moral,  which  was  quite  careless  of  the  truth 
of  facts  of  which  it  was  the  “ point.”  The  facts  were  told  as 
introductory  argument. 

The  interest  of  the  Fathers  in  physics  and  natural  history 
bears  analogy  to  their  interest  in  history  and  biography. 
Looking  back  to  classical  times,  one  finds  that  historians 
were  led  by  other  motives  than  the  mere  endeavour  to 
ascertain  and  state  the  facts.  The  Homeric  Epos  was  the 
literary  forerunner  of  the  history  which  Herodotus  wrote  of 
the  Persian  Wars ; and  the  latter  often  was  less  interested 
in  the  closeness  of  his  facts  than  in  their  aptness  and 
rhetorical  probability.  Doubtless  he  followed  legends  when 
telling  how  Greek  and  Persian  spoke  or  acted.  But  had  not 
legend  already  sifted  the  chaff  of  irrelevancy  from  the  story, 
leaving  the  grain  of  convincing  fitness,  which  is  also  rhetorical 

1 For  the  sources  of  these  accounts  see  Lauchert,  Ges.  des  Physiologus  (Strass- 
burg,  1889),  p.  4 sqq. ; also  Goldstaub  in  Philologus,  Supplement,  Bd.  viii.  (1901) 
pp.  339-404-  The  wide  use  of  this  work  is  well  known.  It  was  soon  translated  into 
Ethiopian,  Armenian,  and  Syrian;  into  Latin  not  later  than  the  beginning  of  the 
fifth  century;  and  subsequently,  of  course  with  many  accretions,  into  the  various 
languages  of  western  mediaeval  Europe.  See  Lauchert,  o.c.  p.  79  sqq. 


78 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


probability  ? Likewise  Thucydides,  in  composing  the 
History  of  the  Peloponnesian  War,  that  masterpiece  of 
reasoned  statement,  was  not  over-anxious  as  to  accuracy  of 
actual  word  and  fact  reported.  He  carefully  inquired  regard- 
ing the  events,  in  some  of  which  he  had  been  an  actor.  Often 
he  knew  or  ascertained  what  the  chief  speakers  said  in  those 
dramatic  situations  which  kept  arising  in  this  war  of  neigh- 
bours. Yet,  instead  of  reporting  actual  words,  he  gives  the 
sentiments  which,  according  to  the  laws  of  rhetorical  prob- 
ability, they  must  have  uttered.  So  he  presents  the 
psychology  and  turning-point  of  the  matter. 

This  was  true  historical  rhetoric ; the  historian’s  art  of 
setting  forth  a situation  veritably  by  presenting  its  intrinsic 
necessities.  Xenophon’s  Cyropaedia  went  a step  farther;  it 
was  a historical  romance,  which  neither  followed  fact  nor 
proceeded  according  to  the  necessities  of  the  actual  situation. 
But  it  did  proceed  according  to  moral  proprieties,  and  so  was 
edifying  and  plausible. 

The  classical  Latin  practice  accorded  with  the  Greek. 
Cicero  speaks  of  history  as  opus  oratorium , that  is,  a work 
having  rhetorical  and  literary  qualities.  It  should  set  forth 
the  events  and  situations  according  to  their  inherent 
necessities  which  constitute  their  rhetorical  truth.  Then  it 
should  possess  the  civic  and  social  qualities  of  good  oratory : 
morals  and  public  utility.  These  are,  in  fact,  the  character- 
istics of  the  work  of  Sallust,  Livy,  and  Tacitus.  None  of 
them  troubled  himself  much  over  an  accuracy  of  detail 
irrelevant  to  his  larger  purpose.  Tacitus  is  interested  in 
memorable  facts ; he  would  relate  them  in  such  form  that 
they  might  carry  their  lesson,  and  bear  their  part  in  the 
education  of  the  citizen,  for  whom  it  is  salutary  to  study  the 
past.  He  condemns,  indeed,  the  historians  of  the  Empire 
who,  under  an  evil  emperor,  lie  from  fear,  and,  upon  his 
death,  lie  from  hate.  But  such  condemnation  of  immoral 
lying  does  not  forbid  the  shaping  of  a story  according  to 
artistic  probability  and  moral  ends.  Some  shaping  and 
adorning  of  fact  might  be  allowed  the  historian,  acting  with 
motives  of  public  policy,  or  seeking  to  glorify  or  defend  his 
country.1  This  quite  accords  with  the  view  of  Varro  and 

1 Cf.  Boissier,  Tacite  (Paris,  1903). 


CHAP.  IV 


THE  PATRISTIC  MIND 


79 


Cicero,  that  good  policy  should  sometimes  outweigh  truth ! 
whether  or  not  the  accounts  of  the  gods  were  true,  it  was 
well  for  the  people  to  believe. 

Thus  the  Fathers  of  the  Church  were  accustomed  to  a 
historical  tradition  and  practice  in  which  facts  were  presented 
so  as  to  conduce  to  worthy  ends.  Various  motives  lie  back 
of  human  interest  in  truth.  A knowledge  of  the  world’s 
origin,  of  man  s creation,  destiny,  and  relationship  to  God, 
may  be  sought  for  its  own  sake  as  the  highest  human  good ; 
and  yet  it  may  be  also  sought  for  the  sake  of  some  ulterior 
and,  to  the  seeker,  more  important  end.  With  the  Christian 
Fathers  that  more  important  end  was  salvation.  To  obtain 
a saving  knowledge  was  the  object  of  their  most  strenuous 
inquiries.  Doubtless  all  men  take  some  pleasure  simply  in 
knowing;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  there  are  few  among 
wisdom’s  most  disinterested  lovers  that  have  not  some 
thought  of  the  connection  between  knowledge  and  the  other 
goods  of  human  life,  to  which  it  may  conduce.  Yet  if 
seekers  after  knowledge  be  roughly  divided  into  two  classes, 
those  who  wish  to  know  for  the  sake  of  knowing,  and  those 
who  look  to  another  end  to  which  true  knowledge  is  a 
means,  then  the  Fathers  of  the  Church  fall  in  the  latter 
class. 

If  truth  be  sought  for  the  sake  of  something  else,  why  may 
it  not  also  be  sacrificed?  A work  of  art  is  achieved  by 
shaping  the  story  for  the  drama’s  sake,  and  if  we  weave 
fiction  to  suit  the  end,  why  not  weave  fiction  with  fact,  or, 
still  better,  see  the  fact  in  such  guise  as  to  suit  the  require- 
ments of  our  purpose?  Many  are  the  aspects  and  relation- 
ships of  any  fact ; its  actuality  is  exhaustless.1  In  how 
many  ways  does  a human  life  present  itself  ? What 

1 For  example,  what  different  truths  can  one  speak  afterwards  of  a social  din- 
ner of  men  and  women  at  which  he  has  sat.  In  the  first  place,  there  is  the  hostess, 
to  whom  he  may  say  something  pleasant  and  yet  true.  Then  there  is  his  congenial 
friend  among  the  ladies  present,  to  whom  he  will  impart  some  intimate  observations, 
also  true.  Thirdly,  a club  friend  was  at  the  dinner,  and  his  ear  shall  be  the  recep- 
tacle of  remarks  on  feminine  traits  illustrated  by  what  was  said  and  done  there.  Fi- 
nally, there  is  himself,  to  whom  in  the  watches  of  the  night  the  dinner  will  present 
itself  in  its  permanent  values  as  an  incident  in  human  intercourse,  which  is  so  fasci- 
nating, so  transitory,  and  so  suggestive  of  topics  of  reflection.  Here  are  four  pres- 
entations; and  if  there  was  a company  of  twelve,  we  might  multiply  four  by  that 
number  and  imagine  forty-eight  true,  although  inexhaustive,  accounts  of  that  dinner 
which  has  now  joined  thf  fading^circle  of  events  that  are  no  more. 


8o 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


narrative  could  exhaust  the  actuality  and  significance  of  the 
assassination  of  Julius  Caesar?  Indeed,  no  fact  has  such 
narrow  or  compelling  singleness  of  significance  or  actuality 
that  all  its  truth  can  be  put  in  any  statement ! And  again, 
who  is  it  that  can  draw  the  line  between  reality  and 
conviction  ? 

It  is  clear  that  the  limited  and  special  interest  taken  by 
the  Church  Fathers  in  physical  and  historical  facts  would 
affect  their  apprehension  of  them.  One  may  ask  what  was 
real  to  Plato  in  the  world  of  physical  phenomena?  At  all 
events,  Christian  Platonists,  like  Origen  or  Gregory  of 
Nyssa,1  saw  the  paramount  reality  of  such  phenomena  in 
the  spiritual  ideas  implicated  and  evinced  by  them.  The 
world’s  reality  would  thus  be  resolved  into  the  world’s  moral 
or  spiritual  significance,  and  in  that  case  its  truth  might  be 
educed  through  moral  and  allegorical  interpretation.  Of 
course,  such  an  understanding  of  reality  involves  hosts  of 
assumptions  which  were  valid  in  the  fourth  century,  but  are 
not  commonly  accepted  now ; and  chief  among  them  is  this 
very  assumption  that  the  deepest  meaning  of  ancient  poets, 
and  the  Scriptures  above  all,  is  allegorical. 

This  is  but  a central  illustration  of  what  would  determine 
the  Fathers’  conception  of  the  truth  of  physical  events. 
Again : the  Creation  was  a great  miracle ; its  cause,  the 
will  of  God.  The  Cause  of  the  Creation  was  spiritual 
and  spiritual  was  its  purpose,  to  wit,  the  edification 
and  salvation  of  God’s  people;  the  building,  preservation, 
and  final  consummation  of  the  City  of  God.  Did  not  the 
deepest  truth  of  the  matter  lie  in  this  spiritual  cause  and 
purpose?  And  afterwards  to  what  other  end  tended  all 
human  history?  It  was  one  long  exemplification  of  the 
purpose  of  God  through  the  ways  of  providence.  The 
conception  of  what  constituted  a fitting  exemplification  of 
that  purpose  would  control  the  choice  of  facts  and  shape 
their  presentation.  Then  what  was  more  natural  than  that 
events  should  exhibit  this  purpose,  that  it  might  be  perceived 
by  the  people  of  God?  It  would  clearly  appear  in  sav- 
ing interpositions  or  remarkable  chronological  coincidences. 
Such,  even  more  palpably  than  the  other  links  in  the 

1 On  Gregory  of  Nyssa,  see  Taylor,  Classical  Heritage,  p.  125  sqq. 


CHAP.  IV 


THE  PATRISTIC  MIND 


81 


providential  chain,  were  direct  manifestations  of  the  will  of 
God,  and  were  miraculous  because  of  their  extraordinary 
character.  History,  made  anew  through  these  convictions, 
became  a demonstration  of  the  truth  of  Christian  doctrine — 
in  other  words,  apologetic. 

The  most  universal  and  comprehensive  example  of  this 
was  Augustine’s  City  of  God , already  adverted  to.  Its 
subject  was  the  ways  of  God  with  men.  It  embraced 
history,  philosophy,  and  religion.  It  was  the  final  Christian 
apology,  and  the  conclusive  proof  of  Christian  doctrine 
adversum  paganos.  To  this  end  Augustine  unites  the 
manifold  topics  which  he  discusses;  and  to  this  end  his 
apparent  digressions  eventually  return,  bearing  their  sheaves 
of  corroborative  evidence.  In  no  province  of  inquiry  does 
his  apologetic  purpose  appear  with  clearer  power  than  in 
his  treatment  of  history,  profane  and  sacred.1  Through 
the  centuries  the  currents  of  divine  purpose  are  seen  to  draw 
into  their  dual  course  the  otherwise  pointless  eddyings  of 
human  affairs.  Beneath  the  Providence  of  God,  a revolving 
succession  of  kingdoms  fill  out  the  destinies  of  the  earthly 
Commonwealth  of  war  and  rapine,  until  the  red  torrents 
are  pressed  together  into  the  terrestrial  greatness  of  imperial 
Rome.  No  power  of  heathen  gods  effected  this  result,  nor 
all  the  falsities  of  pagan  philosophy:  but  the  will  of  the 
one  true  Christian  God.  The  fortunes  of  the  heavenly  City 
are  traced  through  the  prefigurative  stories  of  antediluvian 
and  patriarchial  times,  and  then  on  through  the  prophetic 
history  of  the  chosen  people,  until  the  end  of  prophecy 
appears — Christ  and  the  Catholic  Church. 

The  Civitas  Dei  is  the  crowning  example  of  the  drastic 
power  with  which  the  Church  Fathers  conformed  the  data 
of  human  understanding  into  a substantiation  of  Catholic 
Christianity.2  At  the  time  of  its  composition,  the  Faith 

1 Chiefly  in  Books  III.  and  XV.-XVIII.,. 

2 Like  the  Civitas  Dei,  the  patristic  writings  devoted  exclusively  to  history 
were  all  frankly  apologetic,  yet  following  different  manners  according  to  the 
temper  and  circumstances  of  the  writer.  In  the  East,  at  the  epoch  of  the  formal 
Christian  triumph  and  the  climax  of  the  Arian  dispute,  lived  Eusebius  of  Caesarea, 
the  most  famous  of  the  early  Church  historians.  He  was  learned,  careful,  capable 
of  weighing  testimony,  and  possessed  the  faculty  of  presenting  salient  points.  He 
does  not  dwell  overmuch  on  miracles.  His  apologetic  tendencies  appear  in  his 
method  of  seeing  and  stating  facts  so  as  to  uphold  the  truth  of  Christianity.  If 

VOL.  I G 


82 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


needed  advocacy  in  the  world.  Alaric  entered  Rome  in 
410 ; and  it  was  to  meet  the  cry  of  those  who  would  lay 
that  catastrophe  at  the  Church’s  doors  that  Augustine  began 
the  Civitas  Dei.  Soon  after,  an  ardent  young  Spaniard 
named  Orosius  came  on  pilgrimage  to  the  great  doctor  at 
Hippo,  and  finding  favour  in  his  eyes,  was  asked  to  write  a 
profane  history  proving  the  abundance  of  calamities  which 
had  afflicted  mankind  before  the  time  of  Christ.  So 
Orosius  devoted  some  years  (417-418)  to  the  compilation 
of  a universal  chronicle,  using  Latin  sources,  and  calling  his 
work  Seven  Books  of  Histories  “ adversum  paganos 1 Ad- 
dressing Augustine  in  his  prologue,  he  says  : 

“Thou  hast  commanded  me  that  as  against  the  vain  rhetoric 
of  those  who,  aliens  to  God’s  Commonwealth,  coming  from  country 
cross-roads  and  villages  are  called  pagans,  because  they  know 
earthly  things,  who  seek  not  unto  the  future  and  ignore  the  past, 
yet  cry  down  the  present  time  as  filled  with  evil,  just  because 
Christ  is  believed  and  God  is  worshipped ; — thou  hast  commanded 
that  I should  gather  from  histories  and  annals  whatever  mighty 
ills  and  miseries  and  terrors  there  have  been  from  wars  and 
pestilence,  from  famine,  earthquake,  and  floods,  from  volcanic 
eruptions,  from  lightning  or  from  hail,  and  also  from  monstrous 
crimes  in  the  past  centuries;  and  that  I should  arrange  and  set 
forth  the  matter  briefly  in  a book.” 

Orosius’s  story  of  the  four  great  Empires — Babylonian, 
Macedonian,  African,  and  Roman — makes  a red  tale  of 
carnage.  He  deemed  “that  such  things  should  be  com- 
memorated, in  order  that  with  the  secret  of  God’s  ineffable 
judgments  partly  laid  open,  those  stupid  murmurers  at  our 
Christian  times  should  understand  that  the  one  God 
ordained  the  fortunes  of  Babylon  in  the  beginning,  and  at 
the  end  those  of  Rome;  understand  also  that  it  is  through 
His  clemency  that  we  live,  although  wretchedly  because  of 

just  then  Christianity  seemed  no  longer  to  demand  an  advocate,  there  was  place  for 
a eulogist,  and  such  was  Eusebius  in  his  Church  History  and  fulsome  Life  of  Constan- 
tine. His  Church  History  is  translated  by  A.  C.  McGiffert,  Library  of  Nicene  Fathers, 
second  series,  vol  i.  (New  York,  1890).  It  was  translated  into  Latin  by  Rufinus,  friend 
and  then  enemy  of  St.  Jerome. 

1 The  best  edition  is  Zangemeister’s  in  the  Vienna  Corpus  scriptorum  eccles.  (1882). 
Orosius  ignores  the  classic  Greek  historians,  of  whom  he  knew  little  or  nothing.  Cf. 
Taylor,  Classical  Heritage,  pp.  219-221. 


CHAP.  IV 


THE  PATRISTIC  MIND 


83 


our  intemperance.  Like  was  the  origin  of  Babylon  and 
Rome,  and  like  their  power,  greatness,  and  their  fortunes 
good  and  ill;  but  unlike  their  destinies,  since  Babylon  lost 
her  kingdom  and  Rome  keeps  hers  ” ; and  Orosius  refers 
to  the  clemency  of  the  barbarian  victors  who  as  Christians 
spared  Christians.1 

At  the  opening  of  his  seventh  book  he  again  presents 
his  purpose  and  conclusions  : 

“I  think  enough  evidence  has  been  brought  together,  to  prove 
that  the  one  and  true  God,  made  known  by  the  Christian  Faith, 
created  the  world  and  His  creature  as  He  wished,  and  that  He 
has  ordered  and  directed  it  through  many  things,  of  which  it  has 
not  seen  the  purpose,  and  has  ordained  it  for  one  event,  declared 
through  One;  and  likewise  has  made  manifest  His  power  and 
patience  by  arguments  manifold.  Whereat,  I perceive,  straitened 
and  anxious  minds  have  stumbled,  to  think  of  so  much  patience 
joined  to  so  great  power.  For,  if  He  was  able  to  create  the  world, 
and  establish  its  peace,  and  impart  to  it  a knowledge  of  His 
worship  and  Himself,  what  was  the  need  of  so  great  and  (as  they 
say)  so  hurtful  patience,  exerted  to  the  end  that  at  last,  through 
the  errors,  slaughters  and  the  toils  of  men,  there  should  result 
what  might  rather  have  arisen  in  the  beginning  by  His  virtue, 
which  you  preach?  To  whom  I can  truly  reply:  the  human 
race  from  the  beginning  was  so  created  and  appointed  that  living 
under  religion  with  peace  without  labour,  by  the  fruit  of  obedience 
it  might  merit  eternity;  but  it  abused  the  Creator’s  goodness, 
turned  liberty  into  wilful  licence,  and  through  disdain  fell  into 
forgetfulness;  now  the  patience  of  God  is  just  and  doubly  just, 
operating  that  this  disdain  might  not  wholly  ruin  those  whom 
He  wished  to  spare,  who  might  be  reduced  through  labours ; and 
also  so  that  He  might  always  hold  out  guidance  although  to  an 
ignorant  creature,  to  whom  if  penitent  He  would  mercifully  restore 
the  means  of  grace.” 

Such  was  the  point  of  view  and  such  the  motives  of  this 
book,  which  was  to  be  par  excellence  the  source  of  ancient 
history  for  the  Middle  Ages.  But,  concerned  chiefly  with 
the  Gentile  nations,  Orosius  has  few  palpable  miracles  to 
tell.  The  miracle  lies  in  God’s  inejfabilis  ordinatio  of  events, 
and  especially  in  marvellous  chronological  parallels  shown 
in  the  histories  of  nations,  for  our  edification.  Likewise  for 

1 Hist.  ii.  3. 


84 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


mediaeval  men  these  ineffable  chronological  correspondences 
(which  never  existed  in  fact)  were  to  be  evidence  of  God’s 
providential  guidance  of  the  world. 

Some  thirty  years  after  Orosius  wrote,  a priest  of 
Marseilles,  Salvian  by  name,  composed  a different  sort  of 
treatise,  with  a like  object  of  demonstrating  the  righteous 
validity  of  God  s providential  ordering  of  affairs,  especially 
in  those  troubled  times  of  barbarian  invasion  through  which 
the  Empire  then  was  passing.  The  book  declared  its  purpose 
in  its  title  — De  gubernatione  Dei.1  Its  tenor  is  further 
elucidated  by  the  title  bestowed  upon  it  by  a contemporary : 
De  praesenti  (Dei)  judicio.  It  is  famous  for  the  pictures 
(doubtless  overwrought)  which  it  gives  of  the  low  state  of 
morals  among  the  Roman  provincials,  and  of  the  comparative 
decency  of  the  barbarians. 

These  examples  sufficiently  indicate  the  broad  apologetic 
purpose  in  the  patristic  writing  of  history.  There  was 
another  class  of  composition,  biographical  rather  than 
historical,  the  object  of  which  was  to  give  edifying  examples 
of  the  grace  of  God  working  in  holy  men.  The  reference, 
of  course,  is  to  the  Vitae  sanctorum  whose  number  from  the 
fourth  century  onward  becomes  legion.  They  set  forth  the 
marvellous  virtues  of  anchorites  and  their  miracles.  In  the 
East,  the  prime  example  is  the  Athanasian  Life  of  Anthony ; 
Jerome  also  wrote,  in  Latin,  the  lives  of  Anthony’s  fore- 
runner Paulus  and  of  other  saints.  But  for  the  Latin  West 
the  typical  example  was  the  Life  of  St.  Martin  of  Tours, 
most  popular  of  saints,  by  Sulpicius  Severus. 

To  dub  this  class  of  compositions  (and  there  are  classes 
within  classes  here)  uncritical,  credulous,  intentionally 
untruthful,'  is  not  warranted  without  a preliminary  con- 
sideration of  their  purpose.  That  in  general  was  to  edify; 
the  writer  is  telling  a moral  tale,  illustrative  of  God’s  grace 
in  the  instances  of  holy  men.  But  the  divine  grace  is  the 
real  matter;  the  saint’s  life  is  but  the  example.  God’s 
grace  exists ; it  operates  in  this  way.  As  to  the  illustrative 
details  of  its  operation,  why  be  over-anxious  as  to  their 
correctness?  Only  the  vita  must  be  interesting,  to  fix  the 
reader's  attention,  and  must  be  edifying,  to  improve  him. 

1 Best  edition  that  of  Pauly,  in  Vienna  Corpus  scrip,  eccles.  (1883). 


CHAP.  IV 


THE  PATRISTIC  MIND 


85 


These  principles  exerted  sometimes  a less,  sometimes  a 
greater  influence;  and,  accordingly,  while  perhaps  none  of 
the  vitae  is  without  pious  colouring,  as  a class  they  range 
from  fairly  trustworthy  biographies  to  vehicles  of  edifying 
myth.1 

Miracles  are  never  lacking.  The  vita  commonly  was 
drawn  less  from  personal  knowledge  than  from  report  or 
tradition.  Report  grows,  passing  from  mouth  to  mouth, 
and  is  enlarged  with  illustrative  incidents.  Since  no  dis- 
belief blocked  the  acceptance  of  miracles,  their  growth  out- 
stripped that  of  the  other  elements  of  the  story,  because  they 
interested  the  most  people.  Yet  there  was  little  originality, 
and  the  vitae  constantly  reproduced  like  incidents.  Espe- 
cially, Biblical  prototypes  were  followed,  as  one  sees  in  the 
Dialogi  of  Gregory  the  Great,  telling  of  the  career  of  St. 
Benedict  of  Nursia.  The  Pope  finds  that  the  great  founder 
of  western  monasticism  performed  many  of  the  miracles 
ascribed  to  Scriptural  characters.2  Herein  we  see  the  work- 
ing of  suggestion  and  imitation  upon  a “ legend”;  but 
Gregory  found  rather  an  additional  wonder-striking  feature, 
that  God  not  only  had  wrought  miracles  through  Benedict, 
but  in  Plis  ineffable  wisdom  had  chosen  to  conform  the  saint’s 
deeds  to  the  pattern  of  Scriptural  prototypes.  And  so,  in 
the  Vitae  sanctorum , the  joinder  of  suggestion  and  the  will  to 
believe  literally  worked  marvels. 

Usually  the  Fathers  of  the  Church  were  as  interested 
in  miracles  as  the  uneducated  laity.  Ambrose,  the  great 

1 An  excellent  statement  of  the  nature  and  classes  of  the  mediaeval  Vitae  sanctorum 
is  “Les  Legendes  hagiographiques,”  by  Hipp.  Delehaye,  S.J.,  in  Revue  des  questions 
historiques,  t.  74  (1903),  pp.  56-122.  An  English  translation  of  this  article  has  ap- 
peared as  an  independent  volume. 

2 At  Gregory’s  statement  of  the  marvellous  deeds  of  Benedict,  his  interlocutor, 
the  Deacon  Peter,  answers  and  exclaims:  “Wonderful  and  astonishing  is  what  you 
relate.  For  in  the  water  brought  forth  from  the  rock  ( i.e . by  Benedict)  I see  Moses, 
in  the  iron  which  returned  from  the  bottom  of  the  lake  I see  Elisha  (2  Kings  vi.  6), 
in  the  running  upon  the  water  I see  Peter,  in  the  obedience  of  the  raven  I see  Elijah 
(1  Kings  xvii.  6),  and  in  his  grief  for  his  dead  enemy  I see  David  (2  Sam.  i.  n).  That 
man,  as  I consider  him,  was  full  of  the  spirit  of  all  the  just”  (Gregorius  Magnus,  Dia- 
logi, ii.  8.  Quoted  and  expanded  by  Odo  of  Cluny,  Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  133,  col.  724). 
The  rest  of  the  second  book  contains  other  miracles  like  those  told  in  the  Bible.  The 
Life  of  a later  saint  may  also  follow  earlier  monastic  types.  Francis  kisses  the  wounds 
of  lepers,  as  Martin  of  Tours  had  done.  See  Sulpicius  Severus,  Vita  S.  Martini. 
But  often  the  writer  of  a vita  deliberately  inserts  miracles  to  make  his  story  edifying, 
or  enhance  the  fame  of  his  hero,  perhaps  in  order  to  benefit  the  church  where  he  is 
interred. 


86 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


Archbishop  of  Milan,  writes  a long  letter  to  his  sister 
Marcellina  upon  finding  the  relics  of  certain  martyrs,  and 
the  miracles  wrought  by  this  treasure-trove.1  As  for 
Jerome,  of  course,  he  is  very  open-minded,  and  none  too 
careful  in  his  own  accounts.  His  passion  for  the  relics  of 
the  saints  appears  in  his  polemic  Contra  Vigilantium.  What 
interest,  either  in  the  writing  or  the  hearing,  would  men 
have  taken  in  a hermit  desert  life  that  was  bare  of  miracles? 
The  desert  and  the  forest  solitude  have  always  been  full  of 
wonders.  In  Jerome’s  Lives  of  Paulus  and  Hilarion,  the 
romantic  and  picturesque  elements  consist  exclusively  in 
the  miraculous.  And  again  how  could  any  one  devote 
himself  to  the  cult  of  an  almost  contemporary  saint  or  the 
worship  of  a martyr,  and  not  find  abundant  miracles  ? 
Sulpicius  Severus  wrote  the  Vila  of  St.  Martin  while  the 
saint  was  still  alive ; and  there  would  have  been  no  reason 
for  the  worship  of  St.  Felix,  carried  on  through  years  by 
Paulinus  of  Nola,  if  Felix’s  relics  had  not  had  saving  power. 
It  was  to  this  charming  tender  of  the  dead,  afterwards 
beatified  as  St.  Paulinus  of  Nola,2  that  Augustine  addressed 
his  moderating  treatise  on  these  matters,  entitled  De  cura 
pro  mortuis.  He  can  see  no  advantage  in  burying  a body 
close  to  a martyr’s  tomb  unless  in  order  to  stimulate  the 
prayers  of  the  living.  How  the  martyrs  help  us  surpasses 
my  understanding,  says  the  writer;  but  it  is  known  that 
they  do  help.  Very  few  were  as  critical  as  the  Bishop  of 
Hippo ; and  all  men  recognized  the  efficacy  of  prayers  to 
the  martyred  saints,  and  the  magic  power  of  their  relics. 

Having  said  so  much  of  the  intellectual  obliquities  of 
the  Church  Fathers,  it  were  well  to  dwell  a moment  on  their 
power.  Their  inspiration  was  the  Christian  Faith,  working 
within  them  and  bending  their  strength  to  its  call.  Their 
mental  energies  conformed  to  their  understanding  of  the 
Faith  and  their  interpretation  of  its  Scriptural  presentation. 
Their  achievement  was  Catholic  Christianity  consisting  in 
the  union  of  two  complements,  ecclesiastical  organization 
and  the  complete  and  consistent  organism  of  doctrine. 
Here,  in  fact,  two  living  organisms  were  united  as  body  and 


1 Ambrose,  Ep.  22,  ad  Marcellinam. 

2 On  Paulinus  of  Nola,  see  Taylor,  Classical  Heritage,  pp.  272-276. 


CHAP.  IV 


THE  PATRISTIC  MIND 


87 


soul.  Each  was  fitted  to  the  other,  and  neither  could  have 
existed  alone.  In  their  union  they  were  to  prove  unequalled 
in  history  for  coherence  and  efficiency.  Great  then  was  the 
energy  and  intellectual  power  of  the  men  who  constructed 
Church  and  doctrine.  Great  was  Paul ; great  was  Tertullian ; 
great  were  Origen,  Athanasius,  and  the  Greek  Gregories. 
Great  also  were  those  Latin  Fathers  of  the  fourth  and  fifth 
centuries,  Augustine  their  last  and  greatest,  who  finally 
completed  Church  and  doctrine  for  transmission  to  the 
Middle  Ages- — the  doctrine,  however,  destined  to  be  re- 
adjusted as  to  emphasis,  and  barbarized  in  character  by  him 
whose  mind  at  least  is  patristically  re-creative,  but  whose 
soul  is  mediaeval,  Gregorius  Magnus.1 

1 As  this  chapter  has  been  devoted  to  the  intellectual  interests  of  the  Fathers, 
it  should  be  supplemented  by  a consideration  of  the  emotions  and  passions  ap- 
proved or  rejected  by  them.  But  this  matter  may  be  considered  more  con- 
veniently in  connection  with  the  development  of  mediaeval  emotion,  post,  Chap- 
ter XV. 


CHAPTER  V 


THE  LATIN  TRANSMITTERS  OF  ANTIQUE  AND  PATRISTIC 

THOUGHT 

For  the  Latin  West  the  creative  patristic  epoch  closes  with 
the  death  of  Augustine.  There  follows  a period  marked 
by  the  cessation  of  intellectual  originality.  Men  are 
engaged  upon  translations  from  the  Greek;  they  are  busy 
commenting  upon  older  writings  or  are  expounding  with  a 
change  of  emphasis  the  systematic  constructions  of  their 
predecessors.  Epitomes  and  compendia  appear,  simplified 
and  mechanical  abstracts  of  the  bare  elements  of  inherited 
knowledge  and  current  education.  Compilations  are  made, 
put  together  of  excerpts  taken  unshriven  and  unshorn  into 
the  compiler’s  writing.  Knowledge  is  brought  down  to 
a more  barbaric  level.  Yet  temperament  lingers  for  a 
while,  and  still  appears  in  the  results. 

The  representatives  of  this  post-patristic  period  of 
translation,  comment,  and  compendium,  and  of  re-expression 
with  temperamental  change  of  emphasis,  are  the  two  con- 
temporaries, Boethius  and  Cassiodorus ; then  Gregory  the 
Great,  who  became  pope  soon  after  Cassiodorus  closed 
his  eyes  at  the  age  of  ninety  or  more ; and,  lastly,  Isidore, 
Archbishop  of  Seville,  who  died  in  636,  twenty-two  years 
after  Gregory.  All  these  were  Latin  bred,  and  belonged 
to  the  Roman  world  rather  than  to  those  new  peoples 
whose  barbarism  was  hastening  the  disruption  of  a decadent 
order,  but  whose  recently  converted  zeal  was  soon  to  help 
on  the  further  diffusion  of  Latin  Christianity.  They  appear 
as  transmitters  of  antique  and  patristic  thought;  because, 
originating  little,  they  put  together  matter  congenial  to 
their  own  lowering  intellectual  predilections,  and  therefore 

88 


CHAP.  V 


LATIN  TRANSMITTERS 


89 


suitable  as  mental  pabulum  for  times  of  mingled  decadence 
and  barbarism,  and  also  for  the  following  periods  of 
mediaeval  re-emergence  which  continued  to  hark  back  to 
the  obvious  and  the  easy. 

Instead  of  transmitters , a word  indicating  function,  one 
might  call  these  men  intermediaries , and  so  indicate  their 
position  as  well  as  role.  Both  words,  however,  should  be 
taken  relatively.  For  all  the  Fathers  heretofore  considered 
were  in  some  sense  transmitters  or  intermediaries,  even 
though  creative  in  their  work  of  systematizing,  adding  to, 
or  otherwise  transforming  their  matter.  Yet  one  would  not 
dub  Augustine  a transmitter,  because  he  was  far  more  of 
a remaker  or  creator.  But  Gregory  the  Great  will  appear 
a dark  refashioner ; while  Cassiodorus  and  Isidore  are  rather 
sheer  transmitters  or  intermediaries,  the  last-named  worthy 
destined  to  be  the  most  popular  of  them  all,  through  his 
unerring  faculty  of  selecting  for  his  compilations  the  foolish 
and  the  flat. 

Among  them,  Boethius  alone  was  attached  to  the 
antique  by  affinity  of  sentiment  and  temper.  Although 
doubtless  a professing  Christian,  his  sentiments  were  those 
of  pagan  philosophy.  The  De  consolatione  philosophiae , 
which  comes  to  us  as  his  very  self,  is  a work  of  eclectic 
pagan  moralizing,  fused  to  a personal  unity  by  the  author’s 
artistic  and  emotional  nature,  then  deeply  stirred  by  his 
imprisonment  and  peril.1  He  had  enjoyed  the  favour  of 
the  great  Ostrogoth,  Theodoric,  ruler  of  Italy,  but  now  was 
fallen  under  suspicion,  and  had  been  put  in  prison,  where 
he  was  executed  in  the  year  525  at  the  age  of  forty- three. 
His  book  moves  all  readers  by  its  controlled  and  noble 
pathos,  rendered  more  appealing  through  the  romantic 
interest  surrounding  its  composition.  It  became  par 
excellence  the  mediaeval  source  of  such  ethical  precept  and 
consolation  as  might  be  drawn  from  rational  self-control  and 
acquiescence  in  the  ways  of  Providence.  But  at  present 
we  are  concerned  with  the  range  of  Boethius’s  intellectual 
interests  and  his  labours  for  the  transmission  of  learning. 

1 See  E.  K.  Rand,  “On  the  Composition  of  Boethius’  Con.  Phil.,  ” Harvard  Classical 
Studies,  xv. ; also  generally,  Manitius,  Ges.  der  lateinischen  Lit.  des  Mittelalters,  i. 
22-36. 


9o 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


He  was  an  antique-minded  man,  whose  love  of  knowledge 
did  not  revolve  around  “ salvation, ” the  patristic  focus  of 
intellectual  effort.  Rather  he  was  moved  by  an  ardent 
wish  to  place  before  his  Latin  contemporaries  what  was 
best  in  the  classic  education  and  philosophy.  He  is  first 
of  all  a translator  from  Greek  to  Latin,  and,  secondly,  a 
helpful  commentator  on  the  works  which  he  translates. 

He  was  little  over  twenty  years  of  age  when  he  wrote 
his  first  work,  the  De  arithmetica.1  It  was  a free  transla- 
tion of  the  Arithmetic  of  Nichomachus,  a Neo-Pythagorean 
who  flourished  about  the  year  ioo.  Boethius’s  work  opens 
with  a dedicatory  Praefatio  to  his  father-in-law  Symmachus. 
In  that  and  in  the  first  chapter  he  evinces  a broad  con- 
ception of  education,  and  shows  that  lovers  of  wisdom 
should  not  despise  arithmetic,  music,  geometry  and 
astronomy,  the  fourfold  path  or  quadrivium , a word  which 
he  may  have  been  the  first  to  use  in  this  sense.2  With  him 
arithmetic  treats  of  quantity  in  and  by  itself ; music,  of 
quantity  related  to  measure;  geometry,  of  moveless  and 
astronomy  of  moving  quantity.  He  was  a better  Greek 
scholar  than  mathematician ; and  his  free  translation  ignores 
some  of  the  finer  points  of  Nichomachus’s  work,  which 
would  have  impressed  one  better  versed  in  mathematics.3 

The  young  scholar  followed  up  his  maiden  work  with 
a treatise  on  Music,  showing  a knowledge  of  Greek 
harmonics.  Then  came  a De  geometria , in  which  the 
writer  draws  from  Euclid  as  well  as  from  the  practical 
knowledge  of  Roman  surveyors.4  He  composed  or  trans- 
lated other  works  on  elementary  branches  of  education, 
as  appears  from  a royal  letter  written  by  Cassiodorus  in 
the  name  of  Theodoric : “In  your  translations  Pythagoras 
the  musician,  Ptolemy  the  astronomer,  Nichomachus  the 
arithmetician,  Euclid  the  geometer  are  read  by  Italians, 
while  Plato  the  theologian  and  Aristotle  the  logician 
dispute  in  Roman  voice ; and  you  have  given  back  the 

1 Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  63,  col.  1079-1167.  Also  edited  by  Friedlein  (Leipsic,  1867). 

2 1 know  of  no  earlier  employment  of  the  word  to  designate  these  four  branches 
of  study.  But  one  might  infer  from  Boethius’s  youth  at  this  time  that  he  received 
it  from  a teacher. 

3 See  Cantor,  V orlesungen  iiber  die  Ges.  der  Mathematik,  i.  537-540. 

4 See  Cantor,  o.c.  i.  540-551. 


CHAP.  V 


LATIN  TRANSMITTERS 


9i 


mechanician  Archimedes  in  Latin  to  the  Sicilians.”  1 Making 
all  allowance  for  politeness,  this  letter  indicates  the  large 
accomplishment  of  Boethius,  who  was  but  twenty-five 
years  old  when  it  was  written.  We  turn  to  the  com- 
mentated Aristotelian  translations  which  he  now  undertook.2 
“Although  the  duties  of  the  consular  office 3 prevent  the 
bestowal  of  our  time  upon  these  studies,  it  still  seems  a 
proper  part  of  our  care  for  the  Republic  to  instruct  its 
citizens  in  learning  which  is  gained  by  the  labours  of 
the  lamp.  Since  the  valour  of  a bygone  time  brought 
dominion  over  other  cities  to  this  one  Republic,  I shall  not 
merit  ill  of  my  countrymen  if  I shall  have  instructed  the 
manners  of  our  State  with  the  arts  of  Greek  wisdom.” 4 
These  sentences  open  the  second  book  of  Boethius’s  trans- 
lation of  the  Categories  of  Aristotle.  His  plan  of  work 
enlarged,  apparently,  and  grew  more  definite,  as  the  years 
passed,  each  adding  its  quota  of  accomplishment.  At  all 
events,  some  time  afterwards,  when  he  may  have  been  not 
far  from  thirty-five,  he  speaks  in  the  flush  of  an  intellectual 
anticipation  which  the  many  years  of  labour  still  to  be 
counted  on  seemed  to  justify  : 

“Labour  ennobles  the  human  race  and  completes  it  with  the 
fruits  of  genius ; but  idleness  deadens  the  mind.  Not  experience, 
but  ignorance,  of  labour  turns  us  from  it.  For  what  man  who 
has  made  trial  of  labour  has  ever  forsaken  it?  And  the  power  of 
the  mind  lies  in  keeping  the  mind  tense ; to  unstring  it  is  to  ruin 
it.  My  fixed  intention,  if  the  potent  favour  of  the  deity  will  so 
grant,  is  (although  others  have  laboured  in  this  field,  yet  not  with 
satisfactory  method)  to  translate  into  Latin  every  work  of  Aris- 
totle that  comes  to  my  hand,  and  furnish  it  with  a Latin  com- 
mentary. Thus  I may  present,  well  ordered  and  illustrated  with 
the  light  of  comment,  whatever  subtilty  of  logic’s  art,  whatever 
weight  of  moral  experience,  and  whatever  insight  into  natural 
truth,  may  be  gathered  from  Aristotle.  And  I mean  to  translate 
all  the  dialogues  of  Plato,  or  reduce  them  in  my  commentary  to 

1 Cassiodorus,  Ep.  variae,  i.  45. 

2 Upon  the  dates  of  Boethius’s  writings,  see  S.  Brandt,  “ Entstehungszeit  und 
zeitliche  Folge  der  Werke  des  Boetius,”  Philologus,  Band  62  (N.S.  Bd.  16),  1903,  pp. 
141  sqq.  and  234  sqq. 

3 Social  position,  his  own  abilities,  and  the  favour  of  Theodoric,  obtained  the 
consulship  for  Boethius  in  510,  when  he  was  twenty-eight  or  -nine  years  old. 

4 Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  64,  col.  201. 


92 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


a Latin  form.  Having  accomplished  this,  I shall  not  have  de- 
spised the  opinions  of  Aristotle  and  Plato  if  I evoke  a certain 
concord  between  them  and  show  in  how  many  things  of  impor- 
tance for  philosophy  they  agree — if  only  life  and  leisure  last. 
But  now  let  us  return  to  our  subject.”  1 

One  sees  a veritable  love  of  intellectual  labour  and  a 
love  of  the  resulting  mental  increment.  It  is  distinctly  the 
antique,  not  the  patristic,  attitude  towards  interests  of  the 
mind.  In  spite  of  his  sixth-century  way  of  writing,  and 
the  mental  fallings  away  indicated  by  it,  Boethius  possessed 
the  old  pagan  spirit,  and  shows  indeed  how  tastes  might 
differ  in  the  sixth  century.  He  never  translated  the  whole 
of  Aristotle  and  Plato ; but  he  carried  out  his  purpose  to  the 
extent  of  rendering  into  Latin,  with  abundant  comment,  the 
entire  Organon , that  is,  all  the  logical  writings  of  Aristotle. 
First  of  all,  and  with  elaborate  explanation,  he  rendered 
Porphyry’s  famous  Introduction  to  the  Categories  of  the 
Master.  Then  the  Categories  themselves,  likewise  with 
abundant  explanation.  Then  Aristotle’s  De  interpretation, 
in  two  editions,  the  first  with  simple  comment  suited  to 
beginners,  the  second  with  the  best  elaboration  of  formal 
logic  that  he  could  devise  or  compile.2  These  elementary 
portions  of  the  Organon , as  transmitted  in  the  Boethian 
translations,  made  the  logical  discipline  of  the  mediaeval 
schools  until  the  latter  part  of  the  twelfth  century.  He 
translated  also  Aristotle’s  Prior  and  Posterior  Analytics , the 
Topics , and  the  Sophistical  Elenchi.  But  such  advanced 
treatises  were  beyond  the  requirements  of  the  early  mediaeval 
centuries.  With  the  lessening  of  intellectual  energy  they 
passed  into  oblivion,  to  re-emerge  only  when  called  for  by 
the  livelier  mental  activities  of  a later  time.3 

The  list  of  Boethius’s  works  is  not  yet  exhausted,  for 
he  wrote  some  minor  logical  treatises,  and  a voluminous 
commentary  on  Cicero’s  Topica.  He  was  also  the  author 
of  certain  Christian  theological  tracts,  themselves  less 
famous  than  the  controversy  which  long  has  raged  as  to 

1 In  lib.  de  interpretation,  ed.  sec.,  Book  II.,  Migne  64,  col.  433. 

2 See  De  inter,  ed.  pr.,  I.;  ed.  sec.,  III.  and  IV.,  Migne  64,  col.  193,  487,  517. 

3 But  it  appears  that  the  Latin  versions  of  the  Analytics,  Topics,  and  Elenchi 
in  Migne  64  are  not  by  Boethius.  Grabmann,  Ges.  der  schol.  Methode , I.,  149  sqq., 
and  II.,  70  sqq. 


CHAP.  V 


LATIN  TRANSMITTERS 


93 


their  authorship.1  They  serve  to  prove  his  interest  in  Chris- 
tian controversy  as  well  as  in  pagan  philosophy. 

Boethius’s  commentaries  reproduced  the  comments  of 
other  commentators,2  and  he  presents  merely  the  logical 
processes  of  thought.  But  these,  analyzed  and  tabulated, 
were  just  the  parts  of  philosophy  to  be  seized  by  a period 
whose  lack  of  mental  originality  was  rapidly  lowering  to  a 
barbaric  frame  of  mind.  The  logical  works  of  Boethius 
necessarily  presented  the  method  rather  than  the  substance 
of  philosophic  truth.  But  their  study  would  exercise  the 
mind,  and  they  were  peculiarly  adapted  to  serve  as  discipline 
for  the  coming  centuries,  which  could  not  become  progressive 
until  they  had  mastered  their  antique  inheritance,  including 
this  chief  method  of  presenting  the  elemental  forms  of 
truth. 

The  “life  and  leisure”  of  Boethius  were  cut  off  by  his 
untimely  death.  Cassiodorus,  although  a year  or  two  older, 
outlived  him  by  half  a century.  He  was  born  at  Squillace, 
a Calabrian  town  which  looks  out  south-easterly  over  the 
little  gulf  bearing  the  same  name.  His  father,  grandfather, 
and  great-grandfather  had  been  generals  and  high  officials. 
He  himself  served  for  forty  years  under  Theodoric  and  his 
successors,  and  at  last  became  praetorian  praefect,  the  chief 
office  in  the  Gothic  Roman  kingdom.3  Through  his  birth, 
his  education,  his  long  official  career,  and  perhaps  his  pliancy, 
he  belonged  to  both  Goths  and  Romans,  and  like  the  great 
king  whom  he  first  served,  stood  for  a policy  of  reconcile- 
ment and  assimilation  of  the  two  peoples,  and  also  for 
tolerance  as  between  Arian  and  Catholic. 

Some  years  after  Theodoric’s  death,  when  the  Gothic 
kingdom  had  passed  through  internecine  struggles  and 
seemed  at  last  to  have  fallen  before  the  skill  of  Belisarius, 
Cassiodorus  forsook  the  troubles  of  the  world.  He  retired 
to  his  birthplace  Squillace,  and  there  in  propitious  situations 
founded  a pleasant  cloister  for  coenobites  and  an  austerer 

1 See  A.  Hildebrand,  Boethius  und  seine  Stellung  zum  Christentum  (Regensburg, 
1885),  and  works  therein  referred  to.  The  genuineness  of  four  of  these  tracts  seems 
finally  shown  by  E.  K.  Rand,  “Der  dem  Boethius  zugeschriebene  Traktat  de  Fide 
Catholica”  (Fleckeisen’s  Jahrhuch,  1901). 

2 See  Prantl,  Ges.  der  Logik,  i.  679  sqq. 

3 See  his  Life  in  Hodgkin’s  Letters  of  Cassiodorus ; also  Roger,  Enseignement  des 
lettres  classiques  d’Ausone  a Alcuin,  pp.  175-187  (Paris,  1905). 


94 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


hermitage  for  those  who  would  lead  lives  of  arduous 
seclusion.  For  himself,  he  chose  the  former.  It  was  the 
year  of  grace  540,  three  years  before  the  death  of  Benedict 
of  Nursia.  Cassiodorus  was  past  sixty.  In  retiring  from 
the  world  he  followed  the  instinct  of  his  time,  yet  temperately 
and  with  an  increment  of  wisdom.  For  he  was  the  first 
influential  man  to  recognize  the  fitness  of  the  cloister  for  the 
labours  of  the  pious  student  and  copyist.  It  is  not  too 
much  to  regard  him  as  the  inaugurator  of  the  learned,  com- 
piling, commenting  and  transcribing  functions  of  monasti- 
cism.  Not  only  as  a patron,  but  through  his  own  works,  he 
was  here  a leader.  His  writings  composed  after  his  retire- 
ment represent  the  intellectual  interests  of  western  monasti- 
cism  in  the  last  half  of  the  sixth  century.  They  indicate  the 
round  of  study  proper  for  monks;  just  the  grammar,  the 
orthography,  and  other  elementary  branches  which  they 
might  know ; just  the  history  with  which  it  behoved  them 
to  be  acquainted ; and  then,  outbulking  all  the  rest,  those 
Scriptural  studies  to  which  they  might  well  devote  their  lives 
for  the  sake  of  their  own  and  others’  souls. 

In  passing  these  writings  in  review,  it  is  unnecessary  to 
pause  over  the  interesting  collection  of  letters — Variae 
epistolae — which  were  the  fruit  of  Cassiodorus ’s  official 
life,  before  he  shut  the  convent’s  outer  door  against  the  toil 
of  office.  He  “ edited”  them  near  the  close  of  his  public 
career.  Before  that  had  ended  he  had  made  a wretched 
Chronicon , carelessly  and  none  too  honestly  compiled.  He 
had  also  written  his  Gothic  History,  a far  better  work.  It 
survives  only  in  the  compend  of  the  ignorant  Jordanes,  a 
fact  the  like  of  which  will  be  found  repeatedly  recurring  in 
the  sixth  and  following  centuries,  when  a barbaric  mentality 
continually  prefers  the  compend  to  the  larger  and  better 
original,  which  demands  greater  effort  from  the  reader.  A 
little  later  Cassiodorus  composed  his  De  anima , a treatise 
on  the  nature,  qualities,  and  destinies  of  the  Soul.  Although 
made  at  the  request  of  friends,  it  indicated  the  turning  of 
the  statesman’s  interest  to  the  matters  occupying  his  latter 
years,  during  which  his  literary  labours  were  guided  by 
paternal  purpose.  One  may  place  it  with  the  works  coming 
from  his  pen  in  those  thirty  years  of  retirement,  when  study 


CHAP.  V 


LATIN  TRANSMITTERS 


95 


and  composition  were  rather  stimulated  than  disturbed  by 
care  of  his  convent  and  estates,  the  modicum  of  active 
occupation  needed  by  an  old  man  whose  life  had  been  passed 
in  the  management  of  State  affairs.  Its  preface  sets  out  the 
topical  arrangement  in  a manner  prophetic  of  scholastic 
methods : 

“Let  us  first  learn  why  it  is  called  Anima;  secondly  its  defini- 
tion ; thirdly,  its  substantial  quality ; fourthly,  whether  any  form 
should  be  ascribed  to  it ; fifthly,  what  are  its  moral  virtues ; 
sixthly,  its  natural  powers  ( virtutes  naturales)  by  which  it  holds 
the  body  together ; seventhly,  as  to  its  origin ; eighthly,  where  is 
its  especial  seat ; ninthly,  as  to  the  body’s  form ; tenthly,  as  to 
the  properties  of  the  souls  of  sinners;  eleventhly,  as  to  those  of 
the  souls  of  the  just ; and  twelfthly,  as  to  the  resurrection.”  1 

The  short  treatise  which  follows  is  neither  original  nor 
penetrating.  It  closes  with  an  encomium  on  the  number 
twelve,  with  praise  of  Christ  and  with  a prayer. 

Soon  after  Cassiodorus  had  installed  himself  in  Vivarium, 
as  he  called  his  convent,  from  the  fishponds  and  gardens 
surrounding  it,  he  set  himself  to  work  to  transcribe  the 
Scriptures,  and  commenced  a huge  Commentary  on  the 
Psalms.  But  he  interrupted  these  undertakings  in  543  in 
order  to  write  for  his  monks  a syllabus  of  their  sacred  and 
secular  education.  The  title  of  the  work  was  Institutiones 
dimnarum  et  saecularium  litter  arum. 2 In  opening  he  refers 
to  his  failure  to  found  a school  of  Christian  teaching  at 
Rome,  on  account  of  the  wars.  Partially  to  repair  this  want, 
he  will  compose  an  introduction  to  the  study  of  Scripture 
and  letters.  It  will  not  set  out  his  own  opinions,  but  those 
of  former  men.  Through  the  expositions  of  the  Fathers  we 
ascend  to  divine  Scripture,  as  by  a ladder.  The  proper 
order  is  for  the  “ tiros  of  Christ  ” first  to  learn  the  Psalms, 
and  then  proceed  to  study  the  rest  of  Scripture  in  carefully 
corrected  codices.  When  the  “ soldiers  of  Christ  ” have 
completed  the  reading  of  Scripture,  and  fixed  it  in  their 
minds  by  constant  meditation,  they  will  begin  to  recognize 
passages  when  cited,  and  be  able  to  find  them.  They 
should  also  know  the  Latin  commentators,  and  even  the 
Greek,  who  have  expounded  the  various  books. 

1 Migne  70,  col.  1281.  2 Migne  70,  col.  1105-1219. 


96 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


The  first  book  of  these  Institutiones  is  strictly  a guide  to 
Scripture  study,  and  in  no  way  a commentary.  For  example, 
beginning  with  the  “Octateuch,”  as  making  up  the  first 
“codex”  of  Scripture,  Cassiodorus  tells  what  Latin  and  what 
Greek  Fathers  have  expounded  it.  He  proceeds,  briefly,  in 
the  same  way  with  the  rest  of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments. 
He  mentions  the  Ecumenical  Councils,  which  had  passed 
upon  Christian  doctrine,  and  then  refers  to  the  division  of 
Scripture  by  Jerome,  by  Augustine,  and  in  the  Septuagint. 
He  states  rules  for  preserving  the  purity  of  the  text,  exclaims 
over  its  ineffable  value,  and  mentions  famous  doctrinal  works, 
like  Augustine’s  De  Trinitate  and  the  De  officiis  of  Ambrose. 
He  then  recommends  the  study  of  Church  historians  and 
names  the  great  ones,  who  while  incidentally  telling  of 
secular  events  have  shown  that  such  hung  not  on  chance 
nor  on  the  power  of  the  feeble  gods,  but  solely  on  the 
Creator’s  will.  Then  he  shortly  characterizes  the  great 
Latin  Doctors,  Cyprian,  Hilary,  Ambrose,  Jerome,  and 
Augustine,  and  mentions  a convenient  collection  of  excerpts 
from  the  works  of  the  last-named  saint,  made  by  a certain 
priest.  Next  he  admonishes  the  student  as  to  the  careful 
reading  of  Scripture,  and  suggests  convenient  abbreviations 
for  noting  citations.  He  speaks  of  the  desirability  of  knowing 
enough  cosmography  to  understand  when  Scripture  speaks  of 
countries,  towns,  mountains,  or  rivers,  and  then  reverts  to  the 
need  of  an  acquaintance  with  the  Seven  Arts ; this  secular 
wisdom,  having  been  originally  pilfered  from  Scripture, 
should  now  be  called  back  to  its  true  service.  Those  monks 
who  lack  intelligence  for  such  studies  may  properly  work  in 
the  fields  and  gardens  which  surround  Vivarium  (Columella 
and  other  writers  on  agriculture  are  to  be  found  in  the 
convent  library),  and  the  care  of  the  sick  is  recommended 
to  all.  The  second  book  of  the  Institutiones  is  a brief  and 
unequal  compend  of  the  Seven  Arts,  in  which  Dialectic  is 
treated  at  greatest  length. 

The  remaining  works  of  Cassiodorus  appear  as  special 
aids  to  the  student  in  carrying  out  the  programme  of  the  first 
book  of  the  Institutiones.  Such  an  aid  was  the  bulky  Com- 
mentary on  the  Psalms ; another  such  was  the  famous 
Historia  tripartita , made  of  the  Church  histories  of  Socrates, 


CHAP.  V 


LATIN  TRANSMITTERS 


97 


Sozomen,  and  Theodoret,  translated  by  a friend  of  Cassio- 
dorus, and  crudely  thrown  together  by  himself  into  one 
narrative.  Finally,  such  another  work  was  the  compilation 
upon  Latin  orthography  which  the  good  old  man  made  for 
his  monks  in  his  ninety-third  year. 

This  long  and  useful  life  does  not  display  the  zeal  for 
knowledge  for  its  own  sake  which  marks  the  labours  of 
Boethius.  It  is  the  Christian  utilitarian  view  of  knowledge 
that  Cassiodorus  represents,  and  yet  not  narrowly,  nor  with 
a trace  of  that  intolerance  of  whatever  did  not  bear  directly 
on  salvation,  which  is  to  be  found  in  Gregory.  From 
Boethius’s  love  of  philosophy,  and  from  the  practical  interest 
of  Cassiodorus  in  education,  it  is  indeed  a change  to  the 
spiritual  anxiousness  and  fear  of  hell  besetting  this  great 
pope.1 

In  appreciating  a man’s  opinions  and  his  mental  clarity 
or  murkiness,  one  should  consider  his  temperament  and  the 
temper  of  his  time.  Gregory  was  constrained  as  well  as 
driven  by  temperamental  yearnings  and  aversions,  aggra- 
vated by  the  humor  of  the  century  that  produced  Benedict 
of  Nursia  and  was  contemplating  gloomily  the  Empire’s  ruin 
and  decay,  now  more  acutely  borne  in  upon  the  consciousness 
of  thoughtful  people  than  in  the  age  of  Augustine.  His 
temper  drew  from  prevailing  moods,  and  in  turn  impressed 
its  spiritual  incisiveness  upon  the  influences  which  it 
absorbed ; and  his  writings,  so  expressive  of  his  own 
temperament  and  all  that  fed  it,  were  to  work  mightily  upon 
the  minds  and  moods  of  men  to  come. 

Born  of  a distinguished  Roman  family  about  the  year 
540,  he  was  some  thirty-five  years  old  when  Cassiodorus 
died.  His  education  was  the  best  that  Rome  could  give. 
In  spite  of  disclaimer  on  his  part,  rhetorical  training  shows 
in  the  antithetic  power  of  his  style;  for  example,  in  that 
resounding  sentence  in  the  dedicatory  letter  prefixed  to  his 
M or  alia,  wherein  he  would  seem  to  be  casting  grammar  to 
the  winds.  Although  quoted  until  threadbare,  it  is  so 

1 Gregory’s  works  are  printed  in  Migne,  Patrologia  Latina,  75-79.  His  epistles 
are  also  published  in  the  Monumenta  Germaniae  historica.  On  Gregory,  his  life  and 
times,  writings  and  doctrines,  see  F.  H.  Dudden,  Gregory  the  Great,  etc.,  2 vols.  (Long- 
mans, 1905) ; also  E.  G.  Gardner,  The  Dialogues  of  St.  Gregory  surnamed  the 
Great. 


VOL.  I 


H 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


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98 

illustrative  as  to  justify  citation:  “Nam  sicut  hujus  quoque 
epistolae  tenor  enunciat,  non  metacismi  collisionem  fugio, 
non  barbarismi  confusionem  devito,  situs  motusque  et  prae- 
positionum  casus  servare  contemno,  quia  indignum  vehe- 
menter  existimo,  ut  verba  coelestis  oraculi  restringam  sub 
regulis  Donati.”  1 By  no  means  will  he  flee  the  concussion 
of  the  oft-repeated  M , or  avoid  the  confusing  barbarism ; he 
will  despise  the  laws  of  place  and  case,  because  he  deems  it 
utterly  unfit  to  confine  the  words  of  the  heavenly  oracle 
beneath  the  rules  of  Donatus.  By  all  of  which  Gregory 
means  that  he  proposes  to  write  freely,  according  to  the 
needs  of  his  subject,  and  to  disregard  the  artificial  rules  of 
the  somewhat  emptied  rhetoric,  let  us  say,  of  Cassiodorus’s 
epistles. 

In  his  early  manhood  naturally  he  was  called  to  take 
part  in  affairs,  and  was  made  Praeior  urbanus.  But  soon 
the  prevalent  feeling  of  the  difficulty  of  serving  God  in  the 
world  drove  him  to  retirement.  His  father’s  palace  on  the 
Coelian  hill  he  changed  to  a convent,  upon  the  site  of  which 
now  stands  the  Church  of  San  Gregorio  Magno ; and  there 
he  became  a monk.  Passionately  he  loved  the  monk’s  life, 
for  which  he  was  to  long  in  vain  through  most  of  the  years 
to  come.  Soon  he  was  dragged  forth  from  the  companion- 
ship of  “Mary”  to  serve  with  “Martha.”  The  toiling 
papacy  could  not  allow  a man  of  his  abilities  to  remain 
hidden.  He  was  harnessed  to  its  active  service,  and  sent  as 
the  papal  representative  to  the  Imperial  Court  at  Con- 
stantinople; whence  he  returned,  after  several  years,  in  585. 
Re-entering  his  monastery  on  the  Coelian,  he  became  its 
abbot ; but  was  drawn  out  again,  and  made  pope  by  acclama- 
tion and . insistency  in  the  year  590.  There  is  no  need  to 
speak  of  the  efficient  and  ceaseless  activity  of  this  pontiff, 
whose  body  was  never  free  from  pain,  nor  his  soul  released 
from  longing  for  seclusion  which  only  the  grave  was  to  bring. 

Gregory’s  mind  was  less  antique,  and  more  barbarous  and 
mediaeval  than  Augustine’s,  whose  doctrine  he  reproduced 
with  garbling  changes  of  tone  and  emphasis.  In  the  century 
and  a half  between  the  two,  the  Roman  institutions  had 
broken  down,  decadence  had  advanced,  and  the  patristic 

Migne,  Pat  Lat.  75,  col.  516. 


chap,  v LATIN  TRANSMITTERS  9q 

mind  had  passed  from  indifference  to  the  laws  oi  physical 
phenomena  to  something  like  sheer  barbaric  ignorance  of  the 
same.  Whatever  in  Ambrose,  Jerome,  or  Augustine  repre- 
sented conviction  or  opinion,  has  in  Gregory  become  mental 
habit,  spontaneity  of  acceptance,  matter  of  course.  The 
miraculous  is  with  him  a frame  of  mind ; and  the  allegorical 
method  of  understanding  Scripture  is  no  longer  intended, 
not  to  say  wilful,  as  with  Augustine,  but  has  become  per- 
sistent unconscious  habit.  Augustine  desired  to  know  God 
and  the  Soul,  and  the  true  Christian  doctrine  with  whatever 
made  for  its  substantiation.  He  is  conscious  of  closing  his 
mind  to  everything  irrelevant  to  this.  Gregory’s  nature 
had  settled  itself  within  this  scheme  of  Christian  know- 
ledge which  Augustine  framed.  He  has  no  intellectual 
inclinations  reaching  out  beyond.  He  is  not  conscious  of 
closing  his  mind  to  extraneous  knowledge.  His  mental 
habits  and  temperament  are  so  perfectly  adjusted  to  the 
confines  of  this  circle,  that  all  beyond  has  ceased  to  exist 
for  him. 

So  with  Gregory  the  patristic  limitation  of  intellectual 
interest,  indifference  to  physical  phenomena,  and  acceptance 
of  the  miraculous  are  no  longer  merely  thoughts  and  opinions 
consciously  entertained ; they  make  part  of  his  nature. 
There  was  nothing  novel  in  his  views  regarding  knowledge, 
sacred  and  profane.  But  there  is  a turbid  force  of  tempera- 
ment in  his  expressions.  In  consequence,  his  vehement 
words  to  Bishop  Desiderius  of  Vienne  1 have  been  so  taken 
as  to  make  the  great  pope  a barbarizing  idiot.  He  exclaims 
with  horror  at  the  report  that  the  bishop  is  occupying  himself 
teaching  grammar;  he  is  shocked  that  an  episcopal  mouth 
should  be  singing  praises  of  Jove,  which  are  unfit  for  a lay 
brother  to  utter.  But  Gregory  is  not  decrying  here,  any 
more  than  in  the  sentence  quoted  from  the  letter  prefixed 
to  his  M or  alia,  a decent  command  of  Latin.  He  is  merely 
declaring  with  temperamental  vehemence  that  to  teach 
grammar  and  poetry  is  not  the  proper  function  of  a bishop 
— the  bishop  in  this  case  of  a most  important  see.  Gregory 
had  no  more  taste  for  secular  studies  then  Tertullian  four 
centuries  before  him.  For  both,  however,  letters  had  their 

1 Ep.  xi.  54  (Migne  77,  col.  1171)- 


IOO 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


handmaidenly  function,  which  they  performed  effectively  in 
the  instances  of  these  two  great  rhetoricians.1 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  entire  literary  labour  of 
Gregory  was  religious.  His  works,  as  in  time,  so  in  quality, 
are  midway  between  those  of  Ambrose  and  Augustine  and 
those  of  the  Carolingian  rearrangers  of  patristic  opinion. 
Gregory,  who  laboured  chiefly  as  a commentator  upon  Scrip- 
ture, was  not  highly  original  in  his  thoughts,  yet  was  no 
mere  excerpter  of  patristic  interpretations,  like  Rabanus 
Maurus  or  Walafrid  Strabo,  who  belong  to  the  ninth  century.2 
In  studying  Scripture,  he  thought  and  interpreted  in  alle- 
gories. But  he  was  also  a man  experienced  in  life’s 
exigencies,  and  his  religious  admonishings  were  wise  and 
searching.  His  prodigious  Commentary  upon  Job  has  with 
reason  been  called  Gregory’s  Moralia .3  And  as  the  moral 
advice  and  exhortation  sprang  from  Gregory  the  bishop,  so 
the  allegorical  interpretations  largely  were  his  own,  or  at 
least  not  borrowed  and  applied  mechanically. 

Gregory  represents  the  patristic  mind  passing  into  a more 
barbarous  stage.  He  delighted  in  miracles,  and  wrote  his 
famous  Dialogues  on  the  Lives  and  Miracles  of  the  Italian 
Saints 4 to  solace  the  cares  of  his  pontificate.  The  work 
exhibits  a naive  acceptance  of  every  kind  of  miracle,  and 
presents  the  supple  mediaeval  devil  in  all  his  deceitful 
metamorphoses.5 


1 This  is  the  view  expressed  in  the  Commentary  on  Kings  ascribed  to  Gregory, 
but  perhaps  the  work  of  a later  hand.  Thus,  in  the  allegorical  interpretation  of  i 
Kings  (i  Sam.)  xiii.  20,  “But  all  the  Israelites  went  down  to  the  Philistines,  to  sharpen 
every  man  his  share,  and  his  coulter,  and  his  axe.”  Says  the  commentator  (Migne 
Pat.  Lat.  79,  col.  356) : We  go  down  to  the  Philistines  when  we  incline  the  mind  to 
secular  studies ; Christian  simplicity  is  upon  a height.  Secular  books  are  said  to  be  in 
the  plane  since  they  have  no  celestial  truths.  God  put  secular  knowledge  in  a plane 
before  us  that  we  should  use  it  as  a step  to  ascend  to  the  heights  of  Scripture.  So 
Moses  first  learned  the  wisdom  of  the  Egyptians  that  he  might  be  able  to  understand 
and  expound  the  divine  precepts ; Isaiah,  most  eloquent  of  the  prophets,  was  nobiliter 
instructus  et  urbanus ; and  Paul  had  sat  at  Gamaliel’s  feet  before  he  was  lifted  to  the 
height  of  the  third  heaven.  One  goes  to  the  Philistines  to  sharpen  his  plow,  because 
secular  learning  is  needed  as  a training  for  Christian  preaching. 

2 See  post,  Chapter  X. 

3 Migne  75,  76. 

4 Migne  77,  col.  149-430.  The  second  book  is  devoted  to  Benedict  of 
Nursia. 

8 For  illustrations  see  Dudden,  o.c.  i.  321-366,  and  ii.  367-68.  Gregory’s  interest 
in  the  miraculous  shows  also  in  his  letters.  The  Empress  Constantine  had  written 
requesting  him  to  send  her  the  head  of  St.  Paul!  He  replies  ( Ep . iv.  30,  ad  Con- 


CHAP.  V 


LATIN  TRANSMITTERS 


IOI 


Quite  in  accord  with  Gregory’s  interest  in  these  stories  is 
his  elaboration  of  certain  points  of  doctrine,  for  example,  the 
worship  of  the  saints,  whose  intercession  and  supererogatory 
righteousness  may  be  turned  by  prayer  and  worship  to  the 
devotee’s  benefit.  Thus  he  comments  upon  the  eighth  verse 
of  the  twenty-fourth  chapter  of  Job : 

“They  are  wet  with  the  showers  of  the  mountains,  and  em- 
brace the  rocks  as  a shelter.  The  showers  of  the  mountains  are 
the  words  of  the  doctors.  Concerning  which  mountains  it  is 
said  with  the  voice  of  the  Church : ‘ I will  lift  up  my  eyes  unto  the 
hills.’  The  showers  of  the  mountains  water  these,  for  the  streams 
of  the  holy  fathers  saturate.  We  receive  the  ‘shelter’  as  a cover- 
ing of  good  works,  by  which  one  is  covered  so  that  before  the  eyes 
of  omnipotent  God  the  filthiness  of  his  perversity  is  concealed. 
Wherefore  it  is  written,  ‘Blessed  are  those  whose  iniquities  are 
forgiven  and  whose  sins  are  covered’  (Ps.  xxxii.  i).  And  under 
the  name  of  stones  whom  do  we  understand  except  the  strong  men 
of  the  Church?  To  whom  it  is  said  through  the  first  shepherd: 
‘Ye  also  as  living  stones  are  built  up  a spiritual  house’  (i  Peter 
ii.  5).  So  those  who  confide  in  no  work  of  their  own,  run  to  the 
protection  of  the  holy  martyrs,  and  press  with  tears  to  their  sacred 
bodies,  pleading  to  obtain  pardon  through  their  intercession.”  1 

Another  point  of  Gregorian  emphasis : no  delict  is 
remitted  without  punishment.2  To  complement  which 
principle,  Gregory  develops  the  doctrine  of  penance  in  its 
three  elements,  contritio,  conversio  mentis , satisfactio.  Our 
whole  life  should  be  one  long  penitence  and  penance,  and 
baptism  of  tears ; for  our  first  baptism  cannot  wash  out  later 
sins,  and  cannot  be  repeated.  In  the  fourth  book  of  the 
Dialogi  he  develops  his  cognate  doctrine  of  Purgatory,3  and 
amplifies  upon  the  situation  and  character  of  hell.  These 
things  are  implicit  in  Augustine  and  existed  before  him : 
with  Gregory  they  have  become  explicit,  elaborated,  and 

stantinam  Augustam ) in  a wonderful  letter  on  the  terrors  of  such  holy  relics  and  their 
death-striking  as  well  as  healing  powers,  of  which  he  gives  instances.  He  says  that 
sometimes  he  has  sent  a bit  of  St.  Peter’s  chain  or  a few  filings ; and  when  people  came 
seeking  those  filings  from  the  priest  in  attendance,  sometimes  they  readily  come  off, 
and  again  no  effort  of  the  file  can  detach  anything. 

1 Moralia  xvi.  51  (Migne  75,  col.  1151).  Cf.  Dudden,  o.c.  ii.  369-373. 

2 Mor.  ix.  34,  54  (Migne  75,  col.  889).  Cf.  Dudden,  o.c.  ii.  419-426. 

3 Dialogi,  iv.  caps.  39,  55. 


102 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


insisted  on  with  recurrent  emphasis.  Thus  Augustinianism 
is  altered  in  form  and  barbarized.1 

Gregory  is  throughout  prefigurative  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
which  he  likewise  prefigures  in  his  greatness  as  a sovereign 
bishop  and  a man  of  ecclesiastical  affairs.  He  is  energetic 
and  wise  and  temperate.  The  practical  wisdom  of  the 
Catholic  Church  is  in  him  and  in  his  rightly  famed  book  of 
Pastoral  Rule.  The  temperance  and  wisdom  of  his  letters 
of  instructions  to  Augustine  of  Canterbury  are  admirable. 
The  practical  exigency  seemed  always  to  have  the  effect  of 
tempering  any  extreme  opinion  which  apart  from  it  he 
might  have  expressed ; as  one  sees,  for  example,  in  those 
letters  to  this  apostle  to  the  English,  or  in  his  letter  to  Serenus, 
Bishop  of  Marseilles,  who  had  been  too  violent  as  to  paintings 
and  images.  Gregory’s  stand  is  moderate  and  reason- 
able. Likewise  he  opposes  the  use  of  force  to  convert  the 
Jews,  although  insisting  firmly  that  no  Jew  may  hold  a 
Christian  slave.2 

There  has  been  occasion  to  remark  that  decadence  tends 
to  join  hands  with  barbarism  on  a common  intellectual  level. 
Had  Boethius  lived  in  a greater  epoch,  he  might  not  have 
been  an  adapter  of  an  elementary  arithmetic  and  geometry, 
and  his  best  years  would  not  have  been  devoted  to  the 
translation  and  illustration  of  logical  treatises.  Undoubtedly 
his  labours  were  needed  by  the  times  in  which  he  lived  and 
by  the  centuries  which  followed  them  in  spirit  as  well  as 
chronologically.  He  was  the  principal  purveyor  of  the 
strictly  speaking  intellectual  grist  of  the  early  Middle  Ages ; 
and  it  was  most  apt  that  the  great  scholastic  controversy  as 
to  universals  should  have  drawn  its  initial  text  from  his 
translation  of  Porphyry’s  Introduction  to  the  Categories  of 
Aristotle.3  Gregory,  on  the  other  hand,  was  a purveyor  of 
theology,  the  subject  to  which  logic  chiefly  was  to  be  applied. 
He  purveyed  matter  very  much  to  the  mediaeval  taste; 
for  example,  his  wise  practical  admonishments ; his  elabora- 

1 A better  Augustinianism  speaks  in  Gregory’s  letter  to  Theoctista  ( Ep . vii.  26), 
in  which  he  says  that  there  are  two  kinds  of  “ compunction,  the  one  which  fears  eternal 
punishments,  the  other  which  sighs  for  the  heavenly  rewards,  as  the  soul  thirsting  after 
God  is  stung  first  by  fear  and  then  by  love.” 

2 Ep.  iv.  21;  vi.  32;  ix.  6. 

3 See  post,  Chapter  XXXVII.  1. 


chap,  v LATIN  TRANSMITTERS  103 

tion  of  such  a doctrine  as  that  of  penance,  so  tangible  that 
it  could  be  handled,  and  felt  with  one’s  very  fingers;  and, 
finally,  his  supreme  intellectual  endeavour,  the  allegorical 
trellising  of  Scripture,  to  which  the  Middle  Ages  were  to 
devote  their  thoughts,  and  were  to  make  warm  and  living 
with  the  love  and  yearning  of  their  souls.  The  converging 
currents — decadence  and  barbarism — meet  and  join  in 
Gregory’s  powerful  personality.  He  embodies  the  intel- 
lectual decadence  which  has  lost  all  independent  wish  for 
knowledge  and  has  dropped  the  whole  round  of  the  mind’s 
mortal  interests;  which  has  seized  upon  the  near,  the 
tangible,  and  the  ominous  in  theology  till  it  has  rooted 
religion  in  the  fear  of  hell.  All  this  may  be  viewed  as  a 
decadent  abandonment  of  the  more  intellectual  and  spiritual 
complement  to  the  brute  facts  of  sin,  penance,  and  hell 
barely  escaped.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  was  also  bar- 
barization,  and  held  the  strength  of  barbaric  narrowing  of 
motives  and  the  resistlessness  of  barbaric  fear. 

Such  were  the  roles  of  Boethius  and  Gregory  in  the 
transmission  of  antique  and  patristic  intellectual  interests 
into  the  mediaeval  time.  Quite  different  was  that  of 
Gregory’s  younger  contemporary,  Isidore,  the  princely  and 
vastly  influential  Bishop  of  Seville,  the  primary  see  in  that 
land  of  Spain,  which,  however  it  might  change  dynasties, 
was  destined  never  to  be  free  from  some  kind  of  sacerdotal 
bondage.  In  Isidore’s  time,  the  kingdom  of  the  Visigoth 
had  recently  turned  from  Arianism  to  Catholicism,  and  wore 
its  new  priestly  yoke  with  ardour.  Boethius  had  provided 
a formal  discipline  and  Gregory  much  substance  already 
mediaevalized.  But  the  whole  ground-plan  of  Isidore’s  mind 
corresponded  with  the  aptitudes  and  methods  of  the  Caro- 
lingian  period,  which  was  to  be  the  schoolday  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  By  reason  of  his  own  habits  of  study,  by  reason  of  the 
quality  of  his  mind,  which  led  him  to  select  the  palpable,  the 
foolish,  and  the  mechanically  correlated,  by  reason,  in  fine, 
of  his  mental  faculties  and  interests,  Isidore  gathered  and 
arranged  in  his  treatises  a conglomerate  of  knowledge, 
secular  and  sacred,  exactly  suited  to  the  coming  centuries. 

In  drawing  from  its  spiritual  heritage,  an  age  takes  what 
it  cares  for ; and  if  comparatively  decadent  or  barbarized  or 


104 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


childlike  in  its  intellectual  affinities,  it  will  still  manage  to 
draw  what  is  like  itself.  In  that  case,  probably  it  will  not 
draw  directly  from  the  great  sources,  but  from  intermediaries 
who  have  partially  debased  them.  From  these  turbid 
compositions  the  still  duller  age  will  continue  to  select  the 
obvious  and  the  worse.  This  indicates  the  character  of 
Isidore’s  work.  His  writings  speak  for  themselves  through 
their  titles,  and  are  so  flat,  so  transparent,  so  palpably  taken 
from  the  nearest  authorities,  that  there  is  no  call  to  analyze 
them.  But  their  titles  with  some  slight  indication  of  their 
contents  will  show  the  excerpt  character  of  Isidore’s  mental 
processes,  and  illustrate  by  anticipation  the  like  qualities 
reappearing  with  the  Carolingian  doctors. 

Isidore’s  Quaestiones  in  veins  Testamentum  1 is  his  chief 
work  in  the  nature  of  a Scripture  commentary.  It  is  con- 
fined to  those  passages  of  the  old  Testament  which  were 
deemed  most  pregnant  with  allegorical  meaning.  His 
Preface  discloses  his  usual  method  of  procedure:  “We  have 
taken  certain  of  those  incidents  of  the  sacred  history  which 
were  told  or  done  figuratively,  and  are  filled  with  mystic 
sacraments,  and  have  woven  them  together  in  sequence  in 
this  little  work ; and,  collecting  the  opinions  of  the  old 
churchmen,  we  have  made  a choice  of  flowers  as  from  divers 
meadows ; and  briefly  presenting  a few  matters  from  so 
many,  with  some  changes  or  additions,  we  offer  them  not 
only  to  studious  but  fastidious  readers  who  detest  prolixity.” 
Every  one  may  feel  assured  that  he  will  be  reading  the 
interpretations  of  the  Fathers,  and  not  those  of  Isidore — 
“my  voice  is  but  their  tongue.”  He  states  that  his  sources 
are  Origen,  Victorinus,  Ambrose,  Jerome,  Augustine, 
Fulgentius,  Cassian,  and  “Gregory  so  distinguished  for  his 
eloquence  in  our  own  time.”  The  spirit  of  the  mediaeval 
commentary  is  in  this  Preface.  The  phrase  about  “culling 
the  opinions  of  the  Fathers  like  flowers  from  divers  meadows,” 
will  be  repeated  hundreds  of  times.  Such  a commentary  is 
a thing  of  excerpts ; so  it  rests  upon  authority.  The  writer 
thus  comforts  both  his  reader  and  himself ; neither  runs  the 

1 Migne  83,  col.  207-424.  No  reference  need  be  made,  of  course,  to  the 
False  Decretals,  pseudonymously  connected  with  Isidore’s  name;  they  are  later  than 
his  time. 


chap,  v LATIN  TRANSMITTERS  105 

peril  of  originality,  and  together  they  repose  on  the  broad 
bosom  of  the  Fathers. 

Throughout  his  writings,  Isidore  commonly  proceeds  in 
this  way,  whether  he  says  so  or  not.  We  may  name  first 
the  casual  works  which  represent  separate  parcels  of  his 
encyclopaedic  gleanings,  and  then  glance  at  his  putting 
together  of  them,  in  his  Etymologiae.1  The  muster  opens 
with  two  books  of  Distinctions  (Differ entiarum) . The  first 
is  concerned  with  the  distinctions  of  like-sounding  and  like- 
meaning  words.  It  is  alphabetically  arranged.  The  second 
is  concerned  with  the  distinctions  of  things:  it  begins  with 
God  and  the  Creation,  and  passes  to  the  physical  parts  and 
spiritual  traits  of  man.  No  need  to  say  that  it  contains 
nothing  that  is  Isidore’s  own.  Now  come  the  Allegoriae 
quaedam  sacrae  Scripturae,  which  give  in  chronological  order 
the  allegorical  signification  of  all  the  important  persons 
mentioned  in  the  Old  Testament  and  the  New.  It  was  one 
of  the  earliest  hand-books  of  Scriptural  allegories,  and  is  a 
sheer  bit  of  the  Middle  Ages  in  spirit  and  method.  The 
substance,  of  course,  is  taken  from  the  Fathers.  Next,  a 
little  work,  De  ortu  et  obitu  Patrum , states  in  short  para- 
graphs the  birthplace,  span  of  life,  place  of  sepulture,  and 
noticeable  traits  of  Scriptural  personages. 

There  follows  a collection  of  brief  Isidorean  prefaces  to 
the  books  of  Scripture.  Then  comes  a curious  book,  which 
may  have  been  suggested  to  the  writer  by  the  words  of 
Augustine  himself.  This  is  the  Liber  numerorum , the  book 
of  the  numbers  occurring  in  the  Scriptures.  It  tells  the 
qualities  and  mystical  significance  of  every  number  from 
one  to  sixteen,  and  of  the  chief  ones  between  sixteen  and 
sixty.  These  numbers  were  “most  holy  and  most  full  of 
mysteries”  to  Augustine,2  and  Augustine  is  the  man  whom 
Isidore  chiefly  draws  on  in  this  treatise — Augustine  at  his 
very  worst.  One  might  search  far  for  an  apter  instance  of 
an  ecclesiastical  writer  elaborately  exploiting  the  most 
foolish  statements  that  could  possibly  be  found  in  the  writings 
of  a great  predecessor. 


1 The  Etymologiae  is  to  be  found  in  vol.  82  of  Migne,  col.  73-728; 
fill  vol.  83  of  Migne. 

* Aug.  Quaest.  in  Gen.  i.  152.  See  ante,  p.  67. 


the  other  works 


io6 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


Isidore  composed  a polemic  treatise  on  the  Catholic 
Faith  against  the  Jews — De  fide  Catholica  contra  Judaeos. 
The  good  bishop  had  nothing  to  add  to  the  patristic  dis- 
cussion of  this  weighty  controversy.  His  book  is  filled  with 
quotations  from  Scripture.  It  put  the  matter  together 
in  a way  suited  to  his  epoch  and  the  coming  centuries,  and 
at  an  early  time  was  translated  into  the  German  and  other 
vernacular  tongues.  Three  books  of  Sententiae  follow,  upon 
the  contents  of  Christian  doctrine — as  to  God,  the  world, 
evil,  the  angels,  man,  Christ  and  the  Church.  They  consist 
of  excerpts  from  the  writings  of  Gregory  the  Great  and 
earlier  Church  Fathers.1  A more  original  work  is  the  De 
ecclesiasticis  officiis,  upon  the  services  of  the  Church  and  the 
orders  of  clergy  and  laity.  It  presents  the  liturgical  practices 
and  ecclesiastical  regulations  of  Isidore’s  epoch. 

Isidore  seems  to  have  put  most  pious  feeling  into  a work 
called  by  him  Synonyma , to  which  name  was  added  the 
supplementary  designation : De  lamentatione  animae.  First 
the  Soul  pours  out  its  lament  in  excruciating  iteration, 
repeating  the  same  commonplace  of  Christian  piety  in 
synonymous  phrases.  When  its  lengthy  plaint  is  ended, 
Reason  replies  with  admonitions  synonymously  reiterated  in 
the  same  fashion.2  This  work  combined  a grammatical 
with  a pious  purpose,  and  became  very  popular  through  its 
doubly  edifying  nature,  and  because  it  strung  together  so 
many  easy  commonplaces  of  Christian  piety.  Isidore  also 
drew  up  a Regula  for  monks,  and  a book  on  the  Order  of 
Creation  has  been  ascribed  to  him.  This  completes  the 
sum  of  his  extant  works  upon  religious  topics,  from  which 
we  pass  to  those  of  a secular  character. 

The  first  of  these  is  the  De  rerum  natura , written  to 
enlighten  his  king,  Sisebut,  “on  the  scheme  {ratio)  of  the 

1 Isidore’s  Books  of  Sentences  present  a topical  arrangement  of  matters  more  or 
less  closely  pertinent  to  the  Christian  Faith,  and  thus  may  be  regarded  as  a precursor 
of  the  Sentences  of  Peter  Lombard  {post,  Chapter  XXXV.).  But  Isidore’s  work  is  the 
merest  compilation,  and  he  does  not  marshal  his  extracts  to  prove  or  disprove  a set 
proposition,  and  show  the  consensus  of  authority,  like  the  Lombard.  His  chief  source 
is  Gregory’s  Moralia.  Prosper  of  Aquitaine,  a younger  contemporary  and  disciple  of 
Augustine,  compiled  from  Augustine’s  works  a book  of  Sentences,  a still  slighter  affair 
than  Isidore’s  (Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  51,  col.  427-496). 

2 For  example,  Reason  begins  her  reply  thus:  “Quaeso  te,  anima,  obsecro  te, 
deprecor  te,  imploro  te,  ne  quid  ultra  leviter  agas,  ne  quid  inconsulte  geras,  ne  temere 
aliquid  facias,”  etc.  (Migne  83,  col.  845). 


CHAP.  V 


LATIN  TRANSMITTERS 


107 


days  and  months,  the  bounds  of  the  year  and  the  change  of 
seasons,  the  nature  of  the  elements,  the  courses  of  the  sun 
and  moon  and  stars,  and  the  signs  of  tempests  and  winds, 
the  position  of  the  earth,  and  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  sea.” 
Of  all  of  which,  continues  Isidore,  “we  have  made  brief 
note,  from  the  writings  of  the  ancients  ( veteribus  viris ),  and 
especially  those  who  were  of  the  Catholic  Faith.  For  it  is 
not  a vain  knowledge  (. superstitiosa  scientia ) to  know  the 
nature  of  these  things,  if  we  consider  them  according  to 
sound  and  sober  teaching.”  1 So  Isidore  compiles  a book 
of  secular  physical  knowledge,  the  substance  of  which  is 
taken  from  the  Hexaemeron  of  Ambrose  and  the  works  of 
other  Fathers,  and  also  from  the  lost  Prata  of  pagan 
Suetonius.2 

Of  course  Isidore  busied  himself  also  with  history.  He 
made  a dismal  universal  Chronicon,  and  perhaps  a History 
of  the  Kings  of  the  Goths,  through  which  stirs  a breath  of 
national  pride;  and  after  the  model  of  Jerome  he  wrote  a 
De  viris  illustribus , concerned  with  some  fifty  worthies  of 
the  Church  flourishing  between  Jerome’s  time  and  his  own. 

Here  we  end  the  somewhat  dry  enumeration  of  the 
various  works  of  Isidore  outside  of  his  famous  “twenty 
books  of  Etymologies.”  This  work  has  been  aptly  styled 
a Konversationslexikon — that  excellent  German  word.  It 
was  named  Etymologiae , because  the  author  always  gives 
the  etymology  of  everything  which  he  describes  or  defines. 
Indeed  the  tenth  book  contains  only  the  etymological 
definitions  of  words  alphabetically  arranged.  These 
etymologies  follow  the  haphazard  similarities  of  the  words, 
and  often  are  nonsensical.  Sometimes  they  show  a fantastic 
caprice  indicating  a mind  steeped  in  allegorical  interpreta- 
tions, as,  for  example,  when  “ Amicus  is  said  to  be,  by 
derivation,  animi  custos;  also  from  hamus,  that  is,  chain  of 
love,  whence  we  say  hami  or  hooks  because  they  hold.”  3 
This  is  not  ignorance  so  much  as  fancy. 

The  Etymologiae  were  meant  to  cover  the  current  know- 
ledge of  the  time,  doctrinal  as  well  as  secular.  But  the 


1 De  rerum  natura,  Praefatio  (Migne  83,  col.  963). 

2 See  Prolegomena  to  Becker’s  edition. 

3 Migne  82,  col.  367. 


io8 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


latter  predominates,  as  it  would  in  a Konversationslexikon. 
The  general  arrangement  of  the  treatise  is  not  alphabetical, 
but  topical.  To  indicate  the  sources  of  its  contents  would 
be  difficult  as  well  as  tedious.  Isidore  drew  on  many 
previous  authors  and  compilers  : to  Cassiodorus  and  Boethius 
he  went  for  Rhetoric  and  Dialectic,  and  made  frequent 
trips  to  the  Praia  of  Suetonius  for  natural  knowledge — or 
ignorance.  In  matters  of  doctrine  he  draws  on  the  Church 
Fathers;  and  for  his  epitome  of  jurisprudence  in  the  fifth 
book,  upon  the  Fathers  from  Tertullian  on,  and  (probably) 
upon  some  elementary  book  of  legal  Institutes.1  Glancing 
at  the  handling  of  topics  in  the  Etymologies  one  feels  it  to 

1 See  Kiibler,  “Isidorus-Studien,”  Hermes  xxv.  (1890),  497,  518,  and  literature 
there  cited. 

An  analysis  of  the  Etymologies  would  be  out  of  the  question.  But  the  captions 
of  the  twenty  books  into  which  it  is  divided  will  indicate  the  range  of  Isidore’s  intellectual 
interests  and  those  of  his  time : 

I.  De  grammatica. 

II.  De  rhetorica  et  dialectica. 

III.  De  quatuor  disciplinis  mathematicis . (Thus  the  first  three  books  contain 
the  Trivium  and  Quadrivium.) 

IV.  De  medicina.  (A  brief  hand-book  of  medical  terms.) 

V.  De  legibus  et  temporibus.  (The  latter  part  describes  the  days,  nights,  weeks, 
months,  years,  solstices  and  equinoxes.  It  is  hard  to  guess  why  this  was  put  in  the 
same  book  with  Law.) 

VI.  De  libris  et  officiis  ecclesiasticis.  (An  account  of  the  books  of  the  Bible  and 
the  services  of  the  Church.) 

VII.  De  Deo,  angelis  et  fidelium  ordinibus. 

VIII.  De  ecclesia  et  sectis  diver  sis. 

IX.  De  Unguis,  gentibus,  regnis,  etc.  (Concerning  the  various  peoples  of  the  earth, 
and  their  languages,  and  other  matters.) 

X.  Vocum  certarum  alphabetum.  (An  etymological  vocabulary  of  many  Latin 
words.) 

XI.  De  homine  et  portentis.  (The  names  and  definitions  of  the  various  parts  of  the 
human  body,  the  ages  of  life,  and  prodigies  and  monsters.) 

XII.  De  animalibus. 

XIII.  De  mundo  et  partibus.  (The  universe  and  its  parts  — atoms,  elements, 
sky,  thunder,  winds,  waters,  etc.) 

XIV.  De  terra  et  partibus.  (Geographical.) 

XV.  De  aedificiis  et  agris.  (Cities,  their  public  constructions,  houses,  temples, 
and  the  fields.) 

XVI.  De  lapidibus  et  metallis.  (Stones,  metals,  and  their  qualities  curious  and 
otherwise.) 

XVII.  De  rebus  rusticis.  (Trees,  herbs,  etc.) 

XVIII.  De  bello  et  ludis.  (On  war,  weapons,  armour;  on  public  games  and  the 
theatre.) 

XIX.  De  navibus,  aedificiis  et  vestibus.  (Ships,  their  parts  and  equipment ; build- 
ings and  their  decoration ; garments  and  their  ornament.) 

XX.  De  penu  et  instruments  domesticis  et  rusticis.  (On  wines  and  provisions, 
and  their  stores  and  receptacles.) 


CHAP.  V 


LATIN  TRANSMITTERS 


109 


have  been  a huge  collection  of  terms  and  definitions.  The 
actual  information  conveyed  is  very  slight.  Isidore  is  under 
the  spell  of  words.  Were  they  fetishes  to  him?  did  they 
carry  moral  potency?  At  all  events  the  working  of  his 
mind  reflects  the  long-age  dominance  of  grammar  and 
rhetoric  in  Roman  education,  which  treated  other  topics 
almost  as  illustrations  of  these  chief  branches.1 

1 The  exaggerated  growth  of  grammatical  and  rhetorical  studies  is  curiously  shown 
by  the  mass  of  words  invented  to  indicate  the  various  kinds  of  tropes  and  figures.  See 
the  list  in  Bede,  De  schematis  (Migne  90,  col.  175  sqq.). 


CHAPTER  VI 


THE  BARBARIC  DISRUPTION  OF  THE  EMPIRE  1 

The  Latinizing  of  northern  Italy,  Spain,  and  Gaul  was 
part  of  the  expansion  of  Roman  dominion.  Throughout 
these  lands,  alien  peoples  submitted  to  the  Roman  order 
and  acquired  new  traits  from  the  training  of  its  discipline. 
Voluntarily  or  under  compulsion  they  exchanged  their 
institutions  and  customs  for  those  of  Roman  Italy,  and  their 
native  tongues  for  Latin.  The  education  and  culture  of  the 
upper  classes  became  identical  with  that  gained  in  the 
schools  about  the  Forum,  and  Roman  literature  was  the 
literature  which  they  studied  and  produced.  In  a greater 
or  less  degree  their  characters  were  Latinized,  while  their 
traditions  were  abandoned  for  those  of  Rome.  Yet,  although 
Romanized  and  Latinized,  these  peoples  were  not  Roman. 
Their  culture  was  acquired,  their  characters  were  changed, 
yet  with  old  traits  surviving.  In  character  and  faculties,  as 
in  geographical  position,  they  were  intermediate,  and  in  role 
they  were  mediatorial.  Much  of  what  they  had  received, 
and  what  they  had  themselves  become,  they  perforce  trans- 
mitted to  the  ruder  humanity  which,  as  the  Empire  weakened, 
pressed  in,  serving,  plundering,  murdering,  and  finally  amal- 
gamating with  these  provincials.  The  surviving  Latin 
culture  passed  to  the  mingled  populations  which  were 
turning  to  inchoate  Romance  nations  in  Italy,  Spain, 
and  Gaul.  Likewise  Christianity,  Romanized,  paganized, 
barbarized,  had  been  accepted  through  these  countries. 
And  now  these  mingled  peoples,  these  inchoate  Romance 
nations,  were  to  accomplish  a broader  mediation  in  extending 

1 Cf.  Hodgkin,  Italy  and  her  Invaders,  8 vols. ; Villari,  The  Barbarian  Invasions 
of  Italy,  2 vols. 


nc 


CHAP.  VI 


THE  BARBARIC  DISRUPTION 


hi 


the  rudiments  of  Latin  culture,  along  with  the  great  new 
Religion,  to  the  barbarous  peoples  beyond  the  Romance 
pale. 

The  mediating  roles  of  the  Roman  provincials  began 
with  their  first  subjection  to  Roman  order.  For  barbarians 
were  continually  brought  into  the  provinces  as  slaves  or 
prisoners  of  war.  Next,  they  entered  to  serve  as  auxiliary 
troops,  coming  especially  from  the  wavering  Teutonic  out- 
skirts of  the  Empire.  And  during  that  time  of  misrule  and 
military  anarchy  which  came  between  the  death  of 
Commodus  (a.d.  192)  and  the  accession  of  Diocletian  (a.d. 
284),  Teutonic  inroads  threatened  the  imperial  fabric.  But, 
apart  from  palpable  invasions,  there  was  a constant  increase 
in  the  Teutonic  inflow  from  the  close  of  the  second  century. 
More  and  more  the  Teutons  tilled  the  fields ; more  and  more 
they  filled  the  armies.  They  became  officers  of  the  army  and 
officials  of  the  Government.  So  long  as  the  vigour  of  life 
and  growth  continued  in  the  Latinized  population  of  the 
Empire,  and  so  long  as  the  Roman  law  and  order  held,  the 
assimilative  power  of  Latin  culture  and  Roman  institutions 
was  enormous;  the  barbarians  became  Romanized.  But 
when  self-conserving  strength  and  coercive  energy  waned 
with  Romans  and  provincials,  when  the  law’s  protection  was 
no  longer  sure,  and  a dry  rot  infected  civic  institutions,  then 
Roman  civilization  lost  some  of  its  transforming  virtue.  The 
barbarism  of  the  Teutonic  influx  became  more  obstinate  as 
the  transmuting  forces  of  civilization  weakened.  Evidently 
the  decadent  civilization  of  the  Empire  could  no  longer 
raise  these  barbarians  to  the  level  of  its  greater  periods;  it 
could  at  most  impress  them  with  such  culture  and  such  ordef: 
as  it  still  possessed.  Moreover,  reacting  upon  these  dis- 
turbed and  infirm  conditions,  barbarism  put  forth  a positive 
transforming  energy,  tending  to  barbarize  the  Empire,  its 
government,  its  army,  its  inhabitants.  The  decay  of  Roman 
institutions  and  the  grafting  of  Teutonic  institutions  upon 
Roman  survivals  were  as  universal  as  the  mingling  of  races, 
tempers,  and  traditions.  The  course  of  events  may  briefly 
be  reviewed. 

In  the  third  century  the  Goths  began,  by  land  and  sea, 
to  raid  the  eastern  provinces  of  the  undivided  Roman 


1 1 2 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


Empire;  down  the  Danube  they  sailed,  and  out  upon  the 
Euxine ; then  their  plundering  fleets  spread  through  the 
eastern  Mediterranean.  They  were  attacked,  repulsed,  over- 
thrown, and  slaughtered  in  hordes  in  the  year  270.  Some 
of  the  survivors  remained  in  bondage,  some  retired  north 
beyond  the  Danube.  Aurelian  gave  up  to  them  the  province 
of  Dacia,  the  latest  conquest  of  the  Empire,  the  first  to  be 
abandoned.  These  Dacian  settlers  thenceforth  appear  as 
Visigoths.  For  a century  the  Empire  had  no  great  trouble 
from  them.  Dacia  was  the  scene  of  the  career  of  Ulfilas 
(b.  31 1,  d.  380),  the  Arian  apostle  of  the  Goths.  They 
became  Christian  in  part,  and  in  part  remained  fiercely 
heathen.  About  372,  harassed  by  the  Huns,  they  pressed 
south  to  escape  over  the  Danube.  Valens  permitted  them 
to  cross ; then  Roman  treachery  followed,  answered  by 
desperate  Gothic  raids  in  Thrace,  till  at  last  Valens  was 
defeated  and  slain  at  Hadrianople  in  378. 

It  was  sixteen  years  after  this  that  Theodosius  the  Great 
marched  from  the  East  to  Italy  to  suppress  Arbogast,  the 
overweening  Frank,  who  had  cast  out  his  weak  master 
Valentinian.  The  leader  of  the  Visigothic  auxiliaries  was 
Alaric.  When  the  great  emperor  died,  Alaric  was  pro- 
claimed King  of  the  Visigoths,  and  soon  proceeded  to  ravage 
and  conquer  Greece.  Stilicho,  son  of  a Vandal  chief — one 
sees  how  all  the  high  officers  are  Teuton — was  the  uncertain 
stay  of  Theodosius’s  weakling  sons,  Honorius  and  Arcadius. 
In  400  Alaric  attempted  to  invade  Italy,  but  was  foiled  by 
Stilicho,  who  five  years  later  circumvented  and  destroyed 
another  horde  of  Goths,  both  men  and  women,  who  had 
penetrated  Italy  to  the  Apennines.  In  408  Alaric  made  a 
second  attempt  to  enter,  and  this  time  was  successful,  for 
Stilicho  was  dead.  Thrice  he  besieged  Rome,  capturing  it 
in  410.  Then  he  died,  his  quick  death  to  be  a warning  to 
Attila.  The  new  Gothic  king,  Ataulf,  conceived  the  plan 
of  uniting  Romans  and  Goths  in  a renewed  and  strengthened 
kingdom.  But  this  task  was  not  for  him,  and  in  two  years 
he  left  Italy  with  his  Visigoths  to  establish  a kingdom  in 
the  south  of  Gaul. 

Attila  comes  next  upon  the  scene.  The  eastern  Empir 
had  endured  the  oppression  of  this  terrible  Turanian,  and 


chap,  vi  THE  BARBARIC  DISRUPTION  113 

had  paid  him  tribute  for  some  years,  before  he  decided  to 
march  westward  by  a route  north  of  the  Alps,  and  attack 
Gaul.  He  penetrated  to  Orleans,  which  he  besieged  in  vain. 
Many  nations  were  in  the  two  armies  that  were  now  to 
meet  in  battle  on  the  “Catalaunian  Plains.  ” On  Attila’s 
side,  besides  his  Huns,  were  subject  Franks,  Bructeri, 
Thuringians,  Burgundians,  and  the  hosts  of  Gepidae  and 
Ostrogoths.  Opposed  were  the  Roman  forces,  Bretons, 
Burgundians,  Alans,  Saxons,  Salian  Franks,  and  the  army  of 
the  Visigoths.  Defeated,  but  not  overthrown,  the  lion  Hun 
withdrew  across  the  Rhine;  but  the  next  spring,  in  452,  he 
descended  from  the  eastern  Alps  upon  Aquileia  and  destroyed 
it,  and  next  sacked  the  cities  of  Venetia  and  the  Po  Valley 
as  far  as  Milan.  Then  he  passed  eastward  to  the  river 
Mincio,  where  he  was  met  by  a Roman  embassy,  in  which 
Pope  Leo  was  the  most  imposing  figure.  Before  this 
embassy  the  Scourge  of  God  withdrew,  awed  or  persuaded, 
or  in  superstitious  fear.  The  following  year,  upon  Attila’s 
death,  his  realm  broke  up;  Gepidae  and  Goths  beat  the 
Huns  in  battle,  and  again  Teutons  held  sway  in  Central 
Europe. 

The  fear  of  the  Hun  had  hardly  ceased  when  the  Vandals 
came  from  Africa,  and  leisurely  plundered  Rome.  They 
were  Teutons,  perhaps  kin  to  the  Goths.  But  theirs  had 
been  a far  migration.  At  the  opening  of  the  fifth  century 
they  had  entered  Gaul  and  fought  the  Franks,  then  passed 
on  to  Spain,  where  they  were  broken  by  the  Visigoths.  So 
they  crossed  to  Africa  and  founded  a kingdom  there,  whence 
they  invaded  Italy.  By  this  time,  the  middle  of  the  fifth 
century,  the  fighting  and  ruling  energy  in  the  western 
Empire  was  barbarian.  The  stocks  had  become  mixed 
through  intermarriage  and  the  confusion  of  wars  and 
frequent  change  of  sides.  An  illustrative  figure  is  Count 
Ricimer,  whose  father  was  a noble  Suevian,  while  his  mother 
was  a Visigothic  princess.  He  directed  the  Roman  State 
from  456  to  472,  placing  one  after  another  of  his  Roman 
puppets  on  the  imperial  throne. 

In  the  famous  year  476  the  Roman  army  was  made  up 
of  barbarians,  mainly  drawn  from  lands  now  included  in 
Bohemia,  Austria,  and  Hungary.  There  were  large  con- 
vol.  1 1 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


114 

tin  gents  of  Rugii  and  Heruli,  who  had  flocked  in  bands 
to  Italy  as  adventurers.  Such  troops  had  the  status  of 
foederati , that  is,  barbarian  auxiliaries  or  allies.  Suddenly 
they  demanded  one-third  of  the  lands  of  Italy.1  Upon 
refusal  of  their  demand,  they  made  a king  from  among 
themselves,  the  Herulian  Odoacer,  and  Romulus  Augustulus 
flitted  from  the  shadowy  imperial  throne.  By  reason  of  his 
dramatic  name,  rather  than  by  any  marked  circumstance  of 
his  deposition,  he  has  come  to  typify  with  historians  the 
close  of  the  line  of  western  emperors. 

The  Herulian  soldier-king  or  “Patrician,”  Odoacer,  a 
nondescript  transition  personage,  ruled  twelve  years.  Then 
the  nation  of  the  Ostrogoths,  which  had  learned  much  from 
the  vicissitudes  of  fortune  in  the  East,  obtained  the  eastern 
emperor’s  sanction,  and  made  its  perilous  way  to  the  gates 
of  Italy  under  the  king,  Theodoric.  This  invading  people 
numbered  perhaps  two  hundred  thousand  souls ; their 
fighting  men  were  forty  thousand.  Odoacer  was  beaten  on 
the  river  Isonzo ; he  retreated  to  the  line  of  the  Adige,  and 
was  again  defeated  at  Verona.  After  standing  a long  siege 
in  Ravenna,  he  made  terms  with  Theodoric,  and  was 
murdered  by  him. 

The  Goths  were  among  the  best  of  the  barbarians,  and 
Theodoric  was  the  greatest  of  the  Goths.  The  eastern 
emperors  probably  regarded  him  as  their  representative  in 
Italy ; and  he  coined  money  only  with  the  Emperor’s  image. 
But  in  fact  he  was  a sovereign ; and,  through  his  sovereignty 
over  both  Goths  and  Romans,  from  a Teutonic  king  he 
became  an  absolute  monarch,  even  as  his  contemporary 
Clovis  became,  under  analogous  circumstances.  He  was  a 
just  despot,  with  his  subjects’  welfare  at  heart.  The  Goths 
received  one-third  of  the  Italian  lands,  in  return  for  which 
their  duty  was  to  defend  the  whole.  This  third  may  have 
been  that  previously  possessed  by  Odoacer’s  troops.  Under 
Theodoric  the  relations  between  Goths  and  “Romans”  were 
friendly.  It  was  from  the  Code  of  Theodosius  and  other 
Roman  sources  that  he  drew  the  substance  of  his  legislation, 

1 This  demand  was  not  so  extraordinary  in  view  of  the  common  Roman  custom 
in  the  provinces  of  billeting  soldiers  upon  the  inhabitants,  with  the  right  to  one-third 
of  the  house  and  appurtenances. 


chap,  vi  THE  BARBARIC  DISRUPTION  115 

the  Edictum  which  about  the  year  510  he  promulgated  for 
both  Goths  and  Romans  ( barbari  Romanique).1  His  aim — - 
and  here  the  influence  of  his  minister  Cassiodorus  appears — 
was  to  harmonize  the  relations  of  the  two  peoples  and 
assimilate  the  ways  of  the  Goths  to  those  of  their  more 
civilized  neighbours.  But  if  his  rule  brought  prosperity  to 
Italy,  after  his  death  came  desolating  wars  between  the 
Goths  under  their  noble  kings,  and  Justinian’s  great  generals, 
Belisarius  and  Narses.  These  wars  ruined  the  Ostrogothic 
nation.  Only  some  remnants  were  left  to  reascend  the  Alps 
in  553.  Behind  them  Italy  was  a waste. 

An  imperial  eastern  Roman  restoration  followed.  It 
was  not  to  endure.  For  already  the  able  and  savage 
Lombard  Alboin  was  making  ready  to  lead  down  his  army 
of  Lombards,  Saxons,  Gepidae  and  unassorted  Teutons,  and 
perhaps  Slavs.  No  strength  was  left  to  oppose  him  in 
plague-stricken  Italy.  So  the  Lombard  conquered  easily, 
and  set  up  a kingdom  which,  united  or  divided  under  kings 
and  dukes,  endured  for  two  hundred  years.  Then  Charle- 
magne— his  father  Pippin  had  been  before  him — at  the 
entreaty  of  the  Pope,  invaded  Italy  with  a host  of  mingled 
Teuton  tribes,  and  put  an  end  to  the  Lombard  kingdom, 
but  not  to  Lombard  blood  and  Lombard  traits. 

The  result  of  all  these  invasions  was  a progressive  bar- 
barization  of  Italy,  which  was  not  altogether  unfortunate, 
because  fraught  with  some  renewal  of  strength.  The  Teutons 
brought  their  customs ; and  at  least  one  Teuton  people,  the 
Lombards,  maintained  them  masterfully.  The  Ostrogoth, 
Theodoric,  had  preserved  the  Italian  municipal  organization, 
and  had  drawn  his  code  for  all  from  Roman  sources.  But 
the  first  Lombard  Code,  that  of  King  Rothari,  promulgated 
about  643,  ignored  Roman  law,  and  apparently  the  very 
existence  of  Romans.  Though  written  in  barbarous  Latin, 
it  is  Lombard  through  and  through.  So,  to  a scarcely  less 
degree,  is  the  Code  of  King  Liutprand,  promulgated  about 
725.2  Even  then  the  Lombards  looked  upon  themselves  as 
distinct  from  the  “Romans.”  Their  laws  were  still  those  of 
the  Lombards,  yet  of  Lombards  settling  down  to  urban  life. 

1 Cf.  post,  Chapter  XXXIV.,  n. 

2 On  the  Codes  see  Hodgkin,  o.c.  vol.  vi. 


n6 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


Within  Lombard  territories  the  “ Romans”  were  subjects. 
In  Liutprand’s  Code  they  seem  to  be  referred  to  under  the 
name  of  aldii  and  aldiae,  male  and  female  persons,  who  were 
not  slaves  and  yet  not  free.  Instead  of  surrendering  one- 
third  of  the  land,  the  Romans  were  obliged  to  furnish  one- 
third  of  its  produce.  Hence  their  Lombard  masters  were 
interested  in  keeping  them  fixed  to  the  soil,  perhaps  in  a state 
of  serfdom.  Little  is  known  as  to  the  intermarriage  of  the 
stocks,  or  when  the  Lombards  adopted  a Latin  speech.1 

It  is  difficult,  either  in  Italy  or  elsewhere,  to  follow  the 
changes  and  reciprocal  working  of  Roman  and  Teutonic 
institutions  through  these  obscure  centuries.  They  wrought 
upon  each  other  universally,  and  became  what  neither  had 
been  before.  The  Roman  State  was  there  no  longer ; where 
the  names  of  its  officials  survived  they  stood  for  altered 
functions.  The  Roman  law  prevailed  within  the  dominions 
of  the  eastern  Empire  and  the  popes.  Everywhere  the 
crass  barbarian  law  and  the  pure  Roman  institution  was 
passing  away,  or  changing  into  something  new.  In  Italy 
another  pregnant  change  was  taking  place,  the  passing  of  the 
functions  of  government  to  the  bishops  of  Rome.  Its  stages 
are  marked  by  the  names  of  great  men  upon  whose  shoulders 
fell  the  authority  no  longer  held  by  a remote  ruler.  Leo  the 
Great  heads  the  embassy  which  turns  back  the  Hun ; a 
century  and  a half  afterwards  Gregory  the  Great  leads  the 
opposition  to  the  Lombards,  still  somewhat  unkempt  savages. 
Thereafter  each  succeeding  pope,  in  fact  the  papacy,  by 
necessity  of  its  position  and  its  aspirations,  opposes  the 
Lombards  when  they  have  ceased  to  be  either  savage  or 
Arian.  It  is  an  absent  supporter  that  the  papacy  desires, 
and  not  a rival  close  at  hand  : Charlemagne,  not  Desiderius. 

When  the  Visigoths  under  Ataulf  left  Italy  they  passed 
into  southern  Gaul,  and  there  established  themselves  with 
Toulouse  as  the  centre  of  the  Visigothic  kingdom.  They 
soon  extended  their  rule  to  Spain,  with  the  connivance  of 
sundry  Roman  rulers.  Some  time  before  them  Vandals, 
Suevi  and  Alans,  having  crossed  the  Rhine  into  Gaul,  had 
been  drawn  across  the  Pyrenees  by  half-traitorous  invitations 

1 The  Lombard  language  was  still  spoken  in  the  time  of  Paulus  Diaconus  (eighth 
century). 


chap,  vi  THE  BARBARIC  DISRUPTION  117 

of  rival  Roman  governors.  The  Visigoths  now  attacked 
these  peoples,  with  the  result  that  the  Suevi  retreated  to 
the  north-west  of  the  peninsula,  and  at  length  the  restless 
Vandals  accepted  the  invitation  of  the  traitor  Count  Boniface, 
and  crossed  to  Africa.  Visigothic  fortunes  varied  under  an 
irregular  succession  of  non-hereditary  and  occasionally  mur- 
dered kings.  Their  kingdom  reached  its  farthest  limit  in 
the  reign  of  Euric  (466-486),  who  extended  its  boundaries 
northward  to  the  Loire  and  southward  over  nearly  all  of 
Spain.1 

Under  the  Visigoths  the  lot  of  the  Latinized  provincials, 
who  with  their  ancestors  had  long  been  Roman  citizens,  was 
not  a hard  one.  The  Roman  system  of  quartering  soldiers 
upon  provincials,  with  a right  to  one-third  of  the  house, 
afforded  precedent  for  the  manner  of  settlement  of  the 
Visigoths  and  other  Teuton  invaders  after  them.  The 
Visigoths  received  two-thirds  not  only  of  the  houses  but  also 
of  the  lands,  which  indeed  were  bare  of  cultivators.  The 
municipal  organization  of  the  towns  was  left  intact,  and  in 
general  the  nomenclature  and  structure  of  Roman  officialdom 
were  preserved.  As  the  Romans  were  the  more  numerous 
and  the  cleverer,  they  regained  their  wealth  and  social 
consideration.  In  506,  Alaric  II.  promulgated  his  famous 
code,  the  Lex  Romana  Visigolhorum , usually  called  the 
“Breviarium,”  for  his  Roman  subjects.  Although  the  next 
year  Clovis  broke  down  the  Visigothic  kingdom  in  Gaul,  and 
confined  it  to  narrow  limits  around  Narbonne,  this  code 
remained  in  force,  a lasting  source  of  Roman  law  for  the 
inhabitants  of  the  south  and  west  of  Gaul.2 

1 Apollinaris  Sidonius,  Ep.  i.  2 (trails,  by  Hodgkin,  o.c.  vol.  ii.  352-358),  gives 
a sketch  of  a Visigothic  king,  Theodoric  II.,  son  of  him  who  fell  in  the  battle  against 
the  Huns.  He  ascended  the  throne  in  453,  having  accomplished  the  murder  of  his 
brother  Thorismund.  In  466,  he  was  himself  slain  by  his  brother  Euric.  In  the 
meanwhile  he  appears  to  have  been  a good,  half-barbaric,  half-civilized  king. 

2 See  post,  Chapter  XXXIV.,  11.  For  the  Visigothic  kingdom  of  Spain  the 
great  reigns  were  those  of  Leowigild  (568-586)  and  his  son  Reccared  (586-601). 
In  Justinian’s  time  the  “Roman  Empire”  had  again  made  good  its  rule  over  the 
south  of  Spain.  Leowigild  pushed  the  Empire  back  to  a narrow  strip  of  southern 
coast,  where  there  were  still  important  cities.  Save  for  this,  he  conquered  all 
Spain,  finally  mastering  the  Suevi  in  the  north-west.  His  capital  was  Toledo. 
Great  as  was  his  power,  it  hardly  sufficed  to  hold  in  check  the  overweening  nobles 
and  landowners.  Under  the  declining  Empire  there  had  sprung  up  a system  of 
clientage  and  protection,  in  which  the  Teutons  found  an  obstacle  to  the  establish- 
ment of  monarchies.  In  Spain  this  system  hastened  the  downfall  of  the  Visigothic 


n8 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


Throughout  Visigothic  Spain  there  existed,  in  conflict  if 
not  in  force,  a complex  mass  of  diverse  laws  and  customs, 
written  and  unwritten,  Roman,  Gothic,  ecclesiastical.  Soon 
after  the  middle  of  the  seventh  century  a general  code  was 
compiled  for  both  Goths  and  Roman  provincials,  between 
whom  marriages  were  formally  sanctioned.  This  codification 
was  the  legal  expression  of  a national  unity,  which  however 
had  no  great  political  vigour.  For  what  with  its  inheritance 
of  intolerable  taxation,  of  dwindling  agriculture,  of  enfeebled 
institutions  and  social  degeneracy,  the  Visigothic  state  fell 
an  easy  victim  to  the  Arabs  in  711.  It  had  been  subject 
to  all  manner  of  administrative  abuse.  In  name  the  govern- 
ment was  secular.  But  in  fact  the  bishops  of  the  great  sees 
were  all-powerful  to  clog,  if  not  to  administer,  justice  and 
the  affairs  of  State  within  their  domains ; the  nobles  abetted 
them  in  their  misgovemment.  So  it  came  that  instead 
of  a united  Government  supported  by  a strong  military 
power,  there  was  divided  misrule,  and  an  army  without 
discipline  or  valour.  This  misrule  was  also  cruelly  in- 
tolerant. The  bitter  persecution  of  the  Jews,  and  the  law 
that  none  but  a Catholic  should  live  in  Spain,  if  not  causes, 
were  at  least  symptoms,  of  a fatal  impotence,  and  prophetic 
of  like  measures  taken  by  later  rulers  in  that  chosen  land  of 
religious  persecution.1 

kingdom.  Another  source  of  trouble  for  Leowigild,  who  was  still  an  Arian,  was 
the  opposition  of  the  powerful  Catholic  clergy.  Reccared,  his  son,  changed  to 
the  Catholic  or  “Roman”  creed,  and  ended  the  schism  between  the  throne  and  the 
bishops. 

1 The  Spanish  Roman  Church,  which  controlled  or  thwarted  the  destinies  of 
the  doomed  Visigothic  kingdom,  was  foremost  among  the  western  churches  in 
ability  and  learning.  It  had  had  its  martyrs  in  the  times  of  pagan  persecution; 
it  had  its  universally  venerated  Hosius,  Bishop  of  Cordova  and  prominent  at  the 
Council  of  Nicaea;  it  had  its  fiercely  quelled  heresies  and  schisms;  and  it  had  an 
astounding  number  of  councils,  usually  held  at  Toledo.  Its  bishops  were  princes. 
Leander,  Bishop  of  Seville,  had  been  a tribulation  to  the  powerful,  still  Arian,  King 
Leowigild,  who  was  compelled  to  banish  him.  That  king’s  son,  Reccared,  re- 
called him  from  banishment,  to  preside  at  the  Council  of  Toledo  in  589,  when 
the  Visigothic  monarchy  turned  to  Roman  Catholicism.  Leander  was  succeeded 
in  his  more  than  episcopal  see  by  his  younger  brother  Isidore  (Bishop  of  Seville 
from  600  to  636).  A princely  prelate,  Isidore  was  to  have  still  wider  and  more 
lasting  fame  for  sanctity  and  learning.  The  last  encyclopaedic  scholar  belonging 
to  the  antique  Christian  world,  he  became  one  of  the  great  masters  of  the  Middle 
Ages  (see  ante,  Chapter  V.).  The  forger  and  compiler  of  the  False  Decretals  in 
selecting  the  name  of  Isidore  rather  than  another  to  clothe  that  collection  with 
authority  acted  under  the  universal  veneration  felt  for  this  great  Spanish  Church- 
man. 


chap,  vi  THE  BARBARIC  DISRUPTION  119 

In  Gaul,  contact  between  Latinized  provincials  and 
Teutonic  invaders  produced  interesting  results.  Mingled 
peoples  came  into  being,  whose  polity  and  institutions  were 
neither  Roman  nor  Teutonic,  and  whose  literature  and 
intellectual  achievement  were  to  unite  the  racial  qualities  of 
both.  The  hybrid  political  and  social  phenomena  of  the 
Frankish  period  were  engendered  by  a series  of  events  which 
may  be  outlined  as  follows.  The  Franks,  Salic  and 
Ripuarian,  were  clustered  in  the  region  of  the  lower  and 
middle  Rhine.  Like  other  Teutonic  groups  dwelling  near 
the  boundaries  of  the  weakening  Empire,  they  were 
alternately  plunderers  of  Roman  territory  and  auxiliaries  in 
the  imperial  army,  or  its  independent  allies  against  Huns 
or  Saxons  or  Alans.  One  Childeric,  whose  career  opens  in 
saga  and  ends  in  history,  was  king  or  hereditary  leader  of 
a part  of  the  Salian  Franks.  This  active  man  appears 

in  frequent  relations  with  Aegidius,  the  half-independent 
Roman  ruler  of  that  north-western  portion  of  Gaul  which 
was  not  held  by  Visigoths  or  Burgundians.  If  Childeric’s 
forefathers  had  oftener  been  enemies  than  allies  of  the 

Empire,  he  was  its  ally,  and  perhaps  commander  of  the 

forces  which  helped  to  preserve  this  outlying  portion  of  its 
territory. 

Aegidius  died  in  463,  and  the  territories  ruled  by  him 
passed  to  his  son  Syagrius  practically  as  an  independent 
kingdom.  Childeric  in  the  next  eighteen  years  increased 
his  power  among  the  Salian  Franks,  and  extended  his 

territories  through  victories  over  other  Teutonic  groups. 
Upon  his  death  in  481  his  kingdom  passed  to  his  son 
Chlodoweg,  or,  as  it  is  easier  to  call  him,  Clovis,  then  in  his 
sixteenth  year.  The  next  five  years  were  employed  by 
this  precocious  genius  of  barbarian  craft  in  strengthening  his 
kingship  among  the  Salians.  At  the  age  of  twenty  he 
attacked  Syagrius,  and  overthrew  his  power  at  Soissons. 
The  last  Roman  ruler  of  a part  of  Gaul  fled  to  the  Visigoths 
for  refuge : their  king  delivered  him  to  Clovis,  who  had  him 
killed.  So  Clovis’s  realm  was  extended  first  to  the  Seine 
and  then  to  the  Loire.  The  Gallo-Romans  were  not  driven 
out  or  dispossessed,  but  received  a new  master,  who  on  his 
part  treated  them  forbearingly  and  accepted  them  as  subjects. 


120 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


The  royal  domains  of  Syagrius  perhaps  were  large  enough  to 
satisfy  the  cupidity  of  the  victors. 

Clovis  was  now  king  of  Gallo-Romans  as  well  as  Salian 
Franks.  Thus  strengthened  he  could  fight  other  Franks 
with  success,  and  carry  on  a great  war  against  the  Alemanni 
to  the  south-east.  At  the  “ battle  of  Tolbiac,”  in  which  he 
finally  overthrew  these  people,  the  heathen  Frank  invoked 
the  Christian  God  (so  tells  Gregory  of  Tours),  and  vowed  to 
accept  the  Faith  if  Christ  gave  him  the  victory.  This  is 
like  the  legend  of  Constantine  at  the  battle  of  the  Mulvian 
Bridge,  nor  is  the  probability  of  its  essential  truth  lessened 
because  of  this  resemblance.  Both  Roman  emperor  and 
Frankish  king  turned  from  heathenism  to  Christianity  as  to 
the  stronger  supernatural  support.  And  if  ever  man  received 
tenfold  reward  in  this  world  from  his  faith  it  was  this 
treacherous  and  bloody  Frank. 

Hitherto  the  Teuton  tribes,  Visigoths,  Ostrogoths, 
Vandals,  Burgundians  who  had  accepted  Christianity,  were 
Arians  by  reason  of  the  circumstances  of  their  “conversion.” 
On  the  other  hand,  the  Romanized  inhabitants  of  Italy, 
Spain,  and  Gaul  were  Catholics,  and  the  influence  of  their 
Arian-hating  clergy  was  enormous.  Evidently  when  Clovis, 
under  the  influence  of  Catholic  bishops  and  a Catholic  wife, 
became  a Catholic,  the  power  of  the  Church  and  the 
sympathy  of  the  laity  would  make  his  power  irresistible. 
For  the  Catholic  population  was  greatly  in  the  majority, 
even  in  the  countries  held  by  Burgundian  or  Visigothic 
kings.  The  Burgundian  rulers  had  half  turned  to 
Catholicism,  and  the  Visigothic  monarchy  treated  it  with 
respect.  Yet  the  Burgundian  kings  did  not  win  the  Church’s 
confidence,  nor  did  the  Visigoths  disarm  its  active  hostility. 
With  such  ability  as  Clovis  and  his  sons  possessed,  their 
conversion  to  Catholicism  ensured  victory  over  their  rivals, 
and  made  a bond  of  friendship  between  them  and  their  Gallo- 
Roman  subjects.1 

The  extension  of  Clovis’s  kingdom,  his  overthrow  of  the 
Visigothic  power,  his  partial  conquest  of  the  Burgundians, 
would  have  been  even  more  rapid  and  decisive  but  for  the 
opposing  diplomacy  of  the  great  Arian  ruler,  Theodoric  the 

1 Marriages  between  Romans  and  Franks  were  legalized  as  early  as  497. 


CHAP.  VI 


THE  BARBARIC  DISRUPTION 


1 2 1 


Ostrogoth,  whose  prestige  and  power  even  the  bold  Frank 
dared  not  defy.  Moreover,  the  Burgundians  stood  well  with 
their  Roman  subjects,  whom  they  treated  generously,  and 
permitted  to  live  under  a code  of  Roman  law.  When  it 
came  to  war  between  them  and  Clovis,  the  advantage  rested 
with  the  latter;  but  possibly  the  fear  of  Theodoric,  or  the 
pressure  of  war  with  the  Alemanni,  deferred  the  final  con- 
quest of  the  Burgundian  kingdom  for  another  generation. 

In  507  Clovis  attacked  the  Visigothic  kingdom,  and 
incorporated  it  with  his  dominions  in  the  course  of  the  next 
year.  Whether  or  not  he  had  cried  out,  in  the  words  of 
Gregory  of  Tours,  “it  is  a shame  that  these  Arians  should 
hold  a part  of  Gaul ; let  us  attack  them  with  God’s  help  and 
take  their  land,”  at  all  events  the  war  had  a religious 
sanction,  and  its  successful  issue  was  facilitated  by  the 
Catholic  clergy  within  the  Visigothic  territory.  Clovis’s 
career  was  now  nearing  its  end.  In  his  last  years,  by 
treachery,  murder,  and  open  war  when  needed,  he  made 
himself  king  of  all  the  Franks,  Ripuarian  and  Salian.  The 
intense  partisan  sympathy  of  the  Church  for  this  its  eldest 
royal  Teuton  son  speaks  in  the  words  of  Gregory  of  Tours, 
concluding  his  recital  of  these  deeds  of  incomparable  villainy  : 
“Thus  day  by  day  God  cast  down  his  (Clovis’s)  enemies 
before  him,  because  he  did  what  was  right  in  His  eyes”  ! 

The  unresting  sons  and  grandsons  of  Clovis  not  only 
conquered  Burgundy,  but  extended  their  rule  far  to  the  east, 
into  the  heart  of  Germany,  and  Merovingians  became  masters 
of  Thuringia  and  Bavaria.  That  such  a realm  should  hold 
together  was  impossible.  From  Clovis  to  Charlemagne  it 
was  the  regular  practice  to  divide  the  realm  at  death  among 
the  ruler’s  sons,  and  for  the  ablest  among  them  to  pursue 
and  slay  the  others,  and  so  unite  the  realm  again.  Besides 
this  principle  of  internecine  conflict,  differences  of  race  and 
language  and  degrees  of  Latinization  ensured  eventual 
disruption. 

Nothing  passes  away,  and  very  little  quite  begins,  but 
all  things  change ; and  so  the  verity  of  social  and  political 
phenomena  lies  in  the  becoming , rather  than  in  any  temporary 
phase  — as  one  may  perceive  in  the  Merovingian,  later 
Carolingian,  regnum  Francorum . Therein  Roman  insti- 


122 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


tutions  survived  either  as  decayed  actualities  or  as  names 
or  effigies ; therein  were  conditions  and  even  institutions 
which  arose  and  were  developed  through  the  decay  of 
previous  institutions,  through  the  weakening  of  the  imperial 
peace  and  justice,  the  growth  of  abuses,  and  the  need  of  the 
weak  to  put  themselves  under  the  protection  of  the  nearest 
strong.  This  huge  conglomerate  of  a government  also  held 
sturdy  Teuton  elements.  There  was  the  kingship  and  the 
strong  body  of  personal  followers,  the  latter  an  outgrowth  of 
the  comitatus , or  rather  of  the  needs  of  any  barbaric  chief- 
taincy. There  was  wergeld,  not  so  much  exclusively  a 
Teutonic  institution,  as  belonging  to  a rough  society  which 
sees  the  need  of  checking  feuds,  and  finds  the  means  in  a 
system  of  compensation  to  the  injured  person  or  his  kin,  who 
would  otherwise  make  reprisals ; there  was  also  Sippe,  the 
rights  and  duties  of  kin  among  themselves,  and  of  the  kinship 
as  a corporate  unit  toward  the  world  without ; and  therein, 
in  general,  was  continuance  of  the  warrior  spirit  of  the  Franks 
and  other  Teutons,  of  their  social  ways  and  mode  of  dress, 
of  their  methods  of  warfare  and  their  thoughts  of  barbaric 
hardihood. 

These  elements,  and  much  more  besides,  were  in  process 
of  mutual  interplay  and  amalgamation.  Childeric  had  been 
king  of  some  of  the  Salian  Franks,  and  had  allied  himself 
with  the  last  fragment  of  the  Roman  Empire  in  Gaul.  Clovis, 
his  son,  is  greater : he  makes  himself  king  of  more  Franks, 
and  becomes  the  head  of  the  Roman- Frankish  combination 
by  overthrowing  Syagrius  and  taking  his  place  as  lord  of  the 
Gallo-Romans.  As  towards  them  he  becomes  even  as 
Syagrius  and  the  emperors  before  him,  absolute  ruler, 
princeps.  This  authority  enhanced  the  dignity  of  Clovis’s 
kingship  over  his  own  Franks  and  the  Alemanni,  and  his 
personal  power  increased  with  each  new  conquest.  He 
became  a novel  sort  of  monarch,  combining  heterogeneous 
prerogatives.  Hence  his  sovereignty  and  that  of  his 
successors  was  not  a simple  development  of  Teutonic  king- 
ship,  nor  was  it  a continuation  of  Roman  imperial  or  pro- 
consular rule,  but  rather  a new  composite  evolution.  Some 
of  its  contradictions  and  anomalies  were  symbolized  by 
Clovis’s  acceptance  of  the  title  of  Consul  and  stamping 


CHAP.  VI 


THE  BARBARIC  DISRUPTION 


123 


the  effigies  of  the  eastern  emperors  upon  his  coins — as  if 
they  held  any  power  in  the  regnum  Francorum ! As  between 
Gallo-Romans  and  Franks,  the  headship  had  gone  over  to 
the  latter ; yet  there  was  neither  hatred  on  the  one  side  nor 
oppression  from  the  other.  A common  Catholicism  and 
many  similarities  of  condition  promoted  mutual  sympathy 
and  union.  For  example,  through  the  decay  of  the  imperial 
power,  oppression  had  increased,  and  the  common  Gallo- 
Roman  people  were  compelled  to  place  themselves  under  the 
patronage  of  powerful  personages  who  could  give  them  the 
protection  which  they  could  no  longer  look  for  from  the 
Government.  So  relationships  of  personal  dependence 
developed,  not  essentially  dissimilar  from  those  subsisting 
between  the  Franks  and  their  kings,  when  the  kings  were 
mere  leaders  of  small  tribes  or  war  bands.  But  the  vastness 
of  the  Salian  realm  impaired  the  personal  relationship 
between  king  and  subjects,  and  again  the  latter,  Frankish  or 
Gallo-Roman,  needed  nearer  protectors,  and  found  them  in 
neighbouring  great  proprietors  and  functionaries,  Frankish 
or  Gallo-Roman  as  the  case  might  be.1 

Through  all  the  turmoil  of  the  Merovingian  period,  there 
was  doubtless  individual  injustice  and  hardship  everywhere, 
but  no  racial  tyranny.  The  Gallo-Roman  kept  his  language 
and  property,  and  continued  to  live  under  the  Roman  law. 
He  was  not  inferior  to  the  Frank,  except  that  the  latter  was 
entitled  to  a higher  wergeld  for  personal  injury,  which,  how- 
ever, soon  was  equalized.  The  Frank  also  lived  under  his 
own  law,  Salic  or  Ripuarian.  But  the  general  mingling  of 
peoples  in  the  end  made  it  impossible  to  distinguish  the  law 
personally  applicable;  and  thereupon,  both  as  to  Franks 
and  Gallo-Romans,  the  territorial  law  superseded  the  law  of 
race.2  And  when,  after  two  centuries,  the  Merovingian 
kingdom,  through  change  of  dynasty,  became  the  Caro- 
lingian,  political  discrepancies  between  Frank  and  Gallo- 
Roman  had  passed  away.  Yet  this  huge  colossus  of  a realm, 
wdth  its  shoulders  of  iron  and  its  feet  of  clay,  still  included 
enough  disparities  of  race  and  land,  language  and  institution, 
to  ensure  its  dissolution. 

1 See  Flach,  Les  Origines  de  I’ancienne  France , vol.  i.  chap.  i.  sqq.  (Paris,  1886). 

2 See  post,  Chapter  XXXIV.,  11. 


CHAPTER  VII 


THE  CELTIC  STRAIN  IN  GAUL  AND  IRELAND 

The  northern  races  who  were  to  form  part  of  the  currents  of 
mediaeval  life  are  grouped  under  the  names  of  Celts  and 
Teutons.1  The  chief  sections  of  the  former,  dwelling  in 
northern  Italy  and  Gaul  and  Spain,  were  Latinized  and 
then  Christianized  long  before  the  mediaeval  period,  and 
themselves  helped  to  create  the  patristic  and  even  the 
antique  side  of  the  mediaeval  patrimony.  Their  role  was 
largely  mediatorial,  and  geographically,  as  well  as  in  their 

1 The  physiological  criterion  of  a race  is  consanguinity.  But  unfortunately 
racial  lineage  soon  loses  itself  in  obscurity.  Moreover,  during  periods  as  to  which 
we  have  some  knowledge,  no  race  has  continued  pure  from  alien  admixture; 

and  every  people  that  has  taken  part  in  the  world’s  advance  has  been  acted  upon 
by  foreign  influences  from  its  prehistoric  beginnings  throughout  the  entire  course 
of  its  history.  Indeed,  foreign  suggestions  and  contact  with  other  peoples  appear 
essential  to  tribal  or  national  progress.  For  the  historian  there  exists  no  pure 
and  unmixed  race,  and  even  the  conception  of  one  becomes  self-contradictory. 
To  him  a race  is  a group  of  people,  presumably  related  in  some  way  by  blood, 
who  appear  to  transmit  from  generation  to  generation  a common  heritage  of 
culture  and  like  physical  and  spiritual  traits.  He  observes  that  the  transmitted 
characteristics  of  such  a group  may  weaken  or  dissipate  before  foreign  influence, 
and  much  more  as  the  group  scatters  among  other  people;  or  again  he  sees  its 
distinguishing  traits  becoming  clearer  as  the  members  draw  to  a closer  national 
unity  under  the  action  of  a common  physical  environment,  common  institutions, 
and  a common  speech.  The  historian  will  not  accept  as  conclusive  any  single 
kind  of  evidence  regarding  race.  He  may  attach  weight  to  complexion,  stature, 
and  shape  of  skull,  and  yet  find  their  interpretation  quite  perplexing  when 

compared  with  other  evidence,  historical  or  linguistic.  He  will  consider  customs 
and  implements,  and  yet  remember  that  customs  may  be  borrowed,  and  imple- 
ments are  often  of  foreign  pattern.  Language  affords  him  the  most  enticing 
criterion,  but  one  of  the  most  deceptive.  It  is  a matter  of  observation  that  when 
two  peoples  of  different  tongues  meet  together,  they  may  mingle  their  blood 
through  marriage,  combine  their  customs,  and  adopt  each  other’s  utensils  and 
ornaments;  but  the  two  languages  will  not  structurally  unite:  one  will  supplant 
the  other.  The  language  may  thus  be  more  single  in  source  than  the  people 

speaking  it ; though,  conversely,  people  of  the  same  race,  by  reason  of  special 

circumstances,  may  not  speak  the  same  tongue.  Hence  linguistic  unity  is  not 
conclusive  evidence  of  unity  of  race. 


124 


CHAP.  VII 


CELTIC  STRAINS 


125 


time  of  receiving  Latin  culture,  they  were  intermediaries 
between  the  classic  sources  and  the  Teutons,  who  also  were 
to  drink  of  these  magic  draughts,  but  not  so  deeply  as  to 
be  transformed  to  Latin  peoples.  The  role  of  the  Teutons 
in  the  mediaeval  evolution  was  to  accept  Christianity  and 
learn  something  of  the  pagan  antique,  and  then  to  react 
upon  what  they  had  received  and  change  it  in  their  natures. 

Central  Europe  seems  to  have  been  the  early  home  alike 
of  Celts  and  Teutons.  Thence  successive  migratory  groups 
appear  to  have  passed  westwardly  and  southerly.  Both 
races  spoke  Aryan  tongues,  and  according  to  the  earliest 
notices  of  classic  writers  resembled  each  other  physically — 
large,  blue-eyed,  with  yellow  or  tawny  hair.  The  more 
penetrating  accounts  of  Caesar  and  Tacitus  disclose  their 
distinctive  racial  traits,  which  contrast  still  more  clearly  in 
the  remains  of  the  early  Celtic  (Irish)  and  Teutonic  litera- 
tures. Whatever  were  the  ethnological  affinities  between 
Celt  and  Teuton,  and  however  imperceptibly  these  races  may 
have  shaded  into  each  other,  for  example,  in  northern  France 
and  Belgium,  their  characters  were  different,  and  their 
opposing  racial  traits  have  never  ceased  to  display  themselves 
in  the  literature  as  well  as  in  the  political  and  social  history 
of  western  Europe. 

The  time  and  manner  of  the  Celtic  occupation  of  Gaul 
and  Spain  remain  obscure.1  It  took  place  long  before  the 
turmoils  of  the  second  century  b.c.,  when  the  Teutonic 
tribes  began  to  assert  themselves,  probably  in  the  north  of 
the  present  Germany,  and  to  press  south-westwardly  upon 
Celtic  neighbours  on  both  sides  of  the  Rhine.  Some  of 
them  pushed  on  towards  lands  held  by  the  Belgae,  and  then 
passed  southward  toward  Aquitania,  drawing  Belgic  and 
Celtic  peoples  with  them.  Afterwards  turning  eastwardly 
they  invaded  the  Roman  Provincia  in  southern  Gaul,  and 
through  their  victories  threatened  the  great  Republic.  This 

1 As  to  the  Celts  in  Gaul  and  elsewhere,  and  the  early  non-Celtic  population 
of  Gaul,  see  A.  Bertrand,  La  Gaule  avant  les  Gaulois  (Paris,  1891) ; La  Religion 
des  Gaulois  (Paris,  1897);  Les  Celtes  dans  les  vallees  du  Pd  et  du  Danube  (in  con- 
junction with  S.  Reinach) ; D’Arbois  de  Jubainville,  Les  Premiers  Habitants  de 
VEurope  (second  edition,  Paris,  1894) ; Fustel  de  Coulanges,  Institutions  politiques 
de  Vancienne  France  (Paris,  1891);  Karl  Miillenhoff,  Deutsche  Altertumskunde , 
Bde.  I.  and  II.;  Zupitza,  “Kelten  und  Gallier,”  Zeitschrijt  fur  keltische  Philologie 
1902. 


126 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


was  the  peril  of  the  Cimbri  and  Teu tones,  which  Marius 
quelled  by  the  waters  of  the  Durance  and  then  among  the 
hills  of  Piedmont.  The  invasion  did  not  change  the  ethno- 
logy of  Gaul,  which,  however,  was  not  altogether  Celtic  in 
Caesar’s  time.  The  opening  sentences  of  his  Commentaries 
indicate  anything  but  racial  unity.  The  Roman  province 
was  mainly  Ligurian  in  blood.  West  of  the  province, 
between  the  Pyrenees  and  the  Garonne,  were  the  “Aquitani,” 
chiefly  of  Iberian  stock.  The  Celtae,  whose  western  boundary 
was  the  ocean,  reached  from  the  Garonne  as  far  north  as  the 
Seine,  and  eastwardly  across  the  centre  of  Gaul  to  the  head 
waters  of  the  Rhine.  North  of  them  were  the  Belgae,  extend- 
ing from  the  Seine  and  the  British  Channel  to  the  lower 
Rhine.  These  Belgae  also  apparently  were  Celts,  and  yet, 
as  their  lands  touched  those  of  the  Germans  on  the  Rhine, 
they  naturally  show  Teutonic  affinities,  and  some  of  their 
tribes  contained  strains  of  Teuton  blood.  But  it  is  not 
blood  alone  that  makes  the  race;  and  Gaul,  with  its 
dominant  Celtic  element,  was  making  Gauls  out  of  all  these 
peoples.  At  all  events  a common  likeness  may  be  discerned 
in  the  picture  of  Gallic  traits  which  Caesar  gives.1 

Gallic  civilization  had  then  advanced  as  far  as  the  native 
political  incapacity  of  the  Gauls  would  permit.  Quick- 
witted and  intelligent,  they  were  to  gain  from  Rome  the 
discipline  they  needed.  Once  accustomed  to  the  enforce- 
ment of  a stable  order,  their  finer  qualities  responded  by  a 
ready  acceptance  of  the  benefits  of  civilization  and  a rapid 
appropriation  of  Latin  culture.  Not  a sentence  of  the  Gallic 
literature  survives.  But  that  this  people  were  endowed 
with  eloquence  and  possessed  of  a sense  of  form,  wras  to  be 
shown  by  works  in  their  adopted  tongue.2  Romanized  and 
Latinized  they  were  converted  to  Christianity  and  then 
renewed  with  fresh  Teutonic  blood.  So  they  enter  upon  the 

1 See  ante , Chapter  II. 

2 The  Latin  literature  produced  by  their  descendants  in  the  fourth  century  is 
usually  good  in  form,  whatever  other  qualities  it  lack.  This  statement  applies 
to  the  works  of  the  nominally  Christian,  but  really  pagan,  rhetorician  and  poet, 
Ausonius,  born  in  310,  at  Bordeaux,  of  mingled  Aquitanian  and  Aeduan  blood; 
likewise  to  the  poems  of  Paulinus  of  Nola,  born  at  the  same  town,  in  353,  and 
to  the  prose  of  Sulpicius  Severus,  also  born  in  Aquitaine  a little  after.  In  the 
fifth  century,  A vitus,  an  Auvernian,  Bishop  of  Vienne,  and  Apollinaris  Sidonius 
continued  the  Gallo-Latin  strain  in  literature. 


CHAP.  VII 


CELTIC  STRAINS 


127 


mediaeval  period ; and  when,  after  the  millennial  year,  the 
voices  of  the  Middle  Ages  cease  simply  to  utter  the  barbaric 
or  echo  the  antique,  it  becomes  clear  that  nowhere  is  there 
a happier  balance  of  intellectual  faculty  and  emotional 
capacity  than  in  these  peoples  of  mingled  stock  who  long 
had  dwelt  in  the  country  which  we  know  as  France. 

Since  the  Celts  of  Gaul  have  left  no  witness  of  themselves 
in  Gallic  institutions  or  literature,  it  is  necessary  to  turn  to 
Ireland  for  clearer  evidence  of  Celtic  qualities.  There  one 
may  see  what  might  come  of  a predominantly  Celtic  people 
who  lacked  the  lesson  of  Roman  conquest  and  the  discipline 
of  Roman  order.  The  early  history  of  the  Irish,  their 
presentation  of  themselves  in  imaginative  literature,  their 
attainment  in  learning  and  accomplishment  in  art,  are  not 
unlike  what  might  have  been  expected  from  Caesar’s  Gauls 
under  similar  conditions  of  comparative  isolation.  Irish 
history  displays  the  social  turmoil  and  barbarism  resulting 
from  insular  aggravation  of  the  Celtic  weaknesses  noticeable 
in  Caesar’s  sketch ; and  the  same  are  carried  to  burlesque 
excess  in  the  old  Irish  literature.  On  the  other  hand,  Irish 
qualities  of  temperament  and  mind  bear  such  fair  fruit  in 
literature  and  art  as  might  be  imagined  springing  from  the 
Gallic  stem  but  for  the  Roman  graft.1 

No  trustworthy  story  can  be  put  together  from  the  myth, 
tradition,  and  conscious  fiction  which  record  the  unpro- 

1 Without  hazarding  a discussion  of  the  origin  of  the  Irish,  of  their  proportion 
of  Celtic  blood,  or  their  exact  relation  to  the  Celts  of  the  Continent,  it  may  in  a 
general  way  be  said,  that  Ireland  and  Great  Britain  were  inhabited  by  a pre- 
historic and  pre-Celtic  people.  The  Celts  came  from  the  Continent,  conquered 
them,  and  probably  intermarried  with  them.  The  Celtic  inflow  may  have  begun 
in  the  sixth  century  before  Christ,  and  perhaps  continued  until  shortly  before 
Caesar’s  time.  Evidences  of  language  point  to  a dual  Celtic  stock,  Goidelic  and 
Brythonic.  It  may  be  surmised  that  the  former  was  the  first  to  arrive.  The 
Celtic  dialect  spoken  by  them  is  now  represented  by  the  Gaelic  of  Ireland,  Man, 
and  Scotland.  The  Brythonic  is  still  represented  by  the  speech  of  Wales  and 
the  Armoric  dialects  of  Brittany.  This  was  the  language  of  the  Britons  who 
fought  with  Caesar,  and  were  subdued  by  later  Roman  generals.  After  the 
Roman  time  they  were  either  pressed  back  into  Wales  and  Cornwall  by  Angles, 
Jutes,  and  Saxons,  or  were  absorbed  among  these  conquering  Teutons.  Probably 
Caesar  was  correct  in  asserting  the  close  affinity  of  the  Britons  with  the  Belgic 
tribes  of  the  Continent.  See  the  opening  chapters  of  Rhys  and  Brynmor-Jones’s 
Welsh  People;  also  Rhys’s  Early  Britain  (London,  1882);  Zupitza,  “Kelten  und 
Gallier,”  Zeitschrift  fur  keltische  Phil.,  1902;  T.  H.  Huxley,  “On  some  Fixed 
Points  in  British  Ethnology,”  Contemporary  Review  for  1871,  reprinted  in  Essays 
(Appleton’s,  1894) ; Ripley,  Races  of  Europe,  chap.  xii.  (New  York,  1899). 


128 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


gressive  turbulence  of  pre-Christian  Ireland.  But  the  Irish 
character  and  capacities  are  clearly  mirrored  in  this  enormous 
Gaelic  literature.  Truculence  and  vanity  pervade  it,  and  a 
passion  for  hyperbole.  A weak  sense  of  fact  and  a lack  of 
steady  rational  purpose  are  also  conspicuous.  It  is  as 
ferocious  as  may  be.  Yet,  withal,  it  keeps  the  charm  of  the 
Irish  temperament.  Its  pathos  is  moving,  even  lovely. 
Some  of  the  poetry  has  a mystic  sensuousness;  the  lines 
fall  on  the  ear  like  the  lapping  of  ripples  on  an  unseen  shore ; 
the  imagery  has  a fantastic  and  romantic  beauty,  and  the 
reader  is  wafted  along  on  waves  of  temperament  and  feeling.1 

Whatever  themes  sprang  from  the  pagan  age,  probably 
nothing  was  written  down  before  the  Christian  time,  when 
Christian  matter  might  be  foisted  into  the  pagan  story. 
The  sagas  belonging  to  the  so-called  Ulster  Cycle  afford  the 
best  illustration  of  early  Irish  traits.2  They  reflect  a society 

1 The  Irish  art  of  illumination  presents  analogies  to  the  literature.  The 
finesse  of  design  and  execution  in  the  Book  of  Kells  (seventh  century)  is  astonishing. 
Equally  marvellous  was  the  work  of  Irish  goldsmiths.  Both  arts  doubtless  made 
use  of  designs  common  upon  the  Continent,  and  may  even  have  drawn  suggestions 
from  Byzantine  or  late  Roman  patterns.  Nevertheless,  illumination  and  the 
goldsmith’s  art  in  Ireland  are  characteristically  Irish  and  the  very  climax  of 
barbaric  fashions.  Their  forms  pointed  to  nothing  further.  These  astounding 
spirals,  meanders,  and  interlacings,  combined  with  utterly  fantastic  and  impossible 
drawings  of  the  human  form,  required  essential  modification  before  they  were 
suited  to  form  part  of  that  organic  development  of  mediaeval  art  which  followed 
its  earlier  imitative  periods. 

Irish  illumination  was  carried  by  Columba  to  Iona,  and  spread  thence  through 
many  monasteries  in  the  northern  part  of  Britain.  It  was  imitated  in  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  monasteries  of  Northumbria,  and  from  them  passed  with  Alcuin  to  the 
Court  of  Charlemagne.  Through  these  transplantings  the  Irish  art  was  changed, 
under  the  hands  of  men  conversant  with  Byzantine  and  later  Roman  art.  The 
influence  of  the  art  also  worked  outward  from  Irish  monasteries  upon  the 
Continent,  St.  Gall,  for  example.  The  Irish  goldsmith’s  art  likewise  passed  into 
Saxon  England,  into  Carolingian  France,  and  into  Scandinavia.  See  J.  H. 
Middleton,  Illuminated  Manuscripts  (Cambridge  Univ.  Press,  1892),  and  the 
different  view  as  to  the  sources  of  Irish  illuminating  art  in  Muntz,  Etudes 
iconographiques  (Paris,  1887) ; also  Kraus,  Geschichte  der  christlicken  Kunst,  i. 
607-619;  Margaret  Stokes,  Early  Christian  Art  in  Ireland  (South  Kensington 
Museum  Art  Hand-Books,  1894),  vol.  i.  p.  32  sqq.,  and  vol.  ii.  pp.  73,  78;  Sophus 
Muller,  Nordische  Alter tumskunde,  vol.  ii.  chap.  xiv.  (Strassburg,  1898). 

2 The  classification  of  ancient  Irish  literature  is  largely  the  work  of  O’Curry, 
Lectures  on  the  Manuscript  Materials  of  Ancient  Irish  History  (Dublin,  1861, 
2nd  ed.,  1878).  See  also  D.  Hyde,  A Literary  History  of  Ireland , chaps,  xxi.-xxix. 
(London,  1899);  D’Arbois  de  Jubainville,  Introduction  a,  V etude  de  la  litter ature 
celtique,  chap,  preliminaire  (Paris,  1883).  The  tales  of  the  Ulster  Cycle,  in  the 
main,  antedate  the  coming  of  the  Norsemen  in  the  eighth  century;  but  the  later 
redactions  seem  to  reflect  Norse  customs;  see  Pflugk-Hartung,  in  Revue  celtique. 
tixiii.  (1892),  p.  170  sqq. 


CHAP,  vn 


CELTIC  STRAINS 


129 


apparently  at  the  “Homeric”  stage  of  development,  though 
the  Irish  heroes  suffer  in  comparison  with  the  Greek  by 
reason  of  the  immeasurable  inferiority  of  these  Gaelic  Sagas 
to  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey.  There  is  the  same  custom  of 
fighting  from  chariots,  the  same  tried  charioteer,  the  hero’s 
closest  friend,  and  the  same  unstable  relationship  between 
the  chieftains  and  the  king.1 

The  Achilles  of  the  Ulster  Cycle  is  Cuchulain.  The  Tain 
Bo  Cuailgne  (Englished  rather  improperly  as  the  “Cattle- 
raid  of  Cooley”)  is  the  long  and  famous  Saga  that  brings 
his  glory  to  its  height.2  Other  Sagas  tell  of  his  mysterious 
birth,  his  youthful  deeds,  his  wooing,  his  various  feats,  and 
then  the  moving,  fateful  story  of  his  death.  Loved  by 
many  women,  cherished  by  heroes,  beautiful  in  face  and 
form,  possessed  of  strength,  agility,  and  skill  in  arms  beyond 
belief,  uncontrolled,  chivalric,  his  battle-ardour  unquench- 
able, he  is  a brilliant  epic  hero.  But  his  story  is  weakened 
by  hyperbole.  Even  to-day  we  know  how  sword-strokes 
and  spear-thrust  kill.  So  do  great  narrators,  who  likewise 
realize  the  literary  power  of  truth.  Through  the  Iliad 
there  is  no  combat  between  heroes  where  spear  and  sword 
do  not  pierce  and  kill  as  they  do  in  fact.  So  in  the  Sagas 
of  the  Norse,  the  man  falls  before  the  mortal  blow.  But 
in  the  Ulster  Cycle,  day  after  day,  two  heroes  may  mangle 
each  other  in  every  impossible  and  fantastic  way,  beyond 
the  bounds  of  the  faintest  shadow  of  verisimilitude.3  In 


1 This  comparison  with  Homeric  society  might  be  extended  so  as  to  include 
the  Celts  of  Britain  and  Gaul.  Close  affinities  appear  between  the  Gauls 
and  the  personages  of  the  Ulster  Cycle.  Several  of  its  Sagas  have  to  do 
with  the  “hero’s  portion,”  awarded  to  the  bravest  warrior  at  the  feast,  a 
source  of  much  pleasant  trouble.  Posidonius,  writing  in  the  time  of  Cicero, 
mentions  the  same  custom  among  the  Celts  of  Gaul  (Didot-M tiller,  Fragmenta 
hist.  Graec.  t.  iii.  p.  260,  col.  1 ; D’Arbois  de  Jubainville,  Introduction,  etc. 
pp.  297,  298). 

2 Probably  first  written  down  in  the  seventh  century.  Some  of  the  Cuchulain 
Sagas  are  rendered  by  D’Arbois  de  Jubainville,  Epopee  celtique;  they  are  given 
popularly  in  E.  Hull’s  Cuchulain  Saga  (D.  Nutt,  London,  1898).  Also  to  some 
extent  in  Hyde’s  Lit.  Hist.,  etc. 

3 See  the  famous  battle  of  the  Ford  between  Cuchulain  and  Ferdiad  (Hyde, 
Lit.  Hist,  of  Ireland,  pp.  328-334).  A more  burlesque  hyperbole  is  that  of  the 
three  caldrons  of  cold  water  prepared  for  Cuchulain  to  cool  his  battle-heat ; when 
he  was  plunged  in;the  first,  it  boiled;  plunged  into  the  second,  no  one  could  hold 
his  hand  in  it;  but  in  the  third,  the  water  became  tepid  (D’Arbois  de  Jubain- 
ville, Epopee  celtique,  p.  204.) 

VOL.  I K 


130 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


this  weakness  of  hyperbole  the  Irish  Sagas  are  outdone  only 
by  the  monstrous  doings  of  the  epics  of  India. 

Besides  hyperbole,  Irish  tales  display  another  weakness, 
which  is  not  unpleasing,  although  an  element  of  failure  both 
in  the  people  and  their  literature.  This  is  the  quality  of 
non-arrival.  Some  old  tales  evince  it  in  the  unsteadfast 
purpose  of  the  narrative,  the  hero  quite  forgetting  the  initial 
motive  of  his  action.  In  the  Voyage  of  Maeldun,  for  instance, 
a son  sets  out  upon  the  ocean  to  seek  his  father’s  murderers, 
a motive  which  is  lost  sight  of  amid  the  marvels  of  the 
voyage.1  As  may  be  imagined,  qualities  of  vanity,  trucu- 
lence, irrationality,  hyperbole,  and  non-arrival  or  lack  of 
sequence,  frequently  impart  an  air  of  bouffe  to  the  Irish 
Sagas,  making  them  humorous  beyond  the  intention  of  their 
composers.2 

Yet  true  heroic  notes  are  to  be  heard.3  And  however 
rare  the  tales  which  have  not  the  makings  of  a brawl  on 
every  page,  these  truculent  Sagas  sometimes  speak  with 
power  and  pathos,  and  sweetly  present  the  loveliness  of 
nature  or  the  charms  of  women;  all  in  a manner  happily 
indicative  of  the  impressionable  Irish  temperament. 
Examples  are  the  moving  tales  of  The  Children  of  Usnach 
and  the  Pursuit  of  Diarmuid  and  Grainne .4  They  bring  to 

1 Certain  interpolated  Christian  chapters  at  the  end  tell  how  Maeldun  is  led 
to  forgive  the  murderers — an  idea  certainly  foreign  to  the  original  pagan  story, 
which  may  perhaps  have  had  its  own  ending.  The  tale  is  translated  in  P.  W. 
Joyce,  Old  Celtic  Romances  (London,  1894),  and  by  F.  Lot  in  D’Arbois  de  Jubainville’s 
Epopee  celtique,  pp.  449-500. 

2 Perhaps  no  one  of  the  Ulster  Sagas  exhibits  these  qualities  more  amusingly 
than  The  Feast  of  Bricriu,  a tale  in  which  contention  for  the  “hero’s  portion”  is 
the  leading  motive.  Its  personae  are  the  men  and  women  who  constantly  appear 
and  reappear  throughout  this  cycle.  In  this  Saga  they  act  and  speak  admirably 
in  character,  and  some  of  the  descriptions  bring  the  very  man  before  our  eyes. 
It  is  translated  by  George  Henderson,  Vol.  II.  Irish  Texts  Society  (London, 
1899),  and  also  by  D’Arbois  de  Jubainville  in  his  Epopee  celtique  (Paris,  1892). 

3 For  example,  in  a historical  Saga  the  great  King  Brian  speaks,  fighting 

against  the  Norsemen:  “O  God  . . . retreat  becomes  us  not,  and  I myself 

know  I shall  not  leave  this  place  alive;  and  what  would  it  profit  me  if  I did? 
For  Aibhell  of  Grey  Crag  came  to  me  last  night,  and  told  me  that  I should  be  killed 
this  day.” 

4“Deirdre,  or  the  Fate  of  the  Sons  of  Usnach,”  is  rendered  in  E.  Hull’s 
Cuchulain  Saga;  Hyde,  Lit.  Hist.,  chap,  xxv.,  and  D’Arbois  de  Jubainville, 
Epopee  celtique,  pp.  2 17-3 19.  The  Pursuit  of  Diarmuid  and  Grainne  was  edited 
by  O’Duffy  for  the  Society  for  the  Preservation  of  the  Irish  Language  (Dublin, 
Gill  and  Son,  1895),  and  less  completely  in  Joyce’s  Old  Celtic  Romances  (London, 

1894)- 


CHAP.  VII 


CELTIC  STRAINS 


131 

mind  the  Tristram  story,  which  grew  up  among  a kindred 
people.  The  first  of  them  only  belongs  to  the  Ulster  Cycle. 
Both  are  stories  of  a beautiful  and  headstrong  maiden 
betrothed  to  an  old  king.  Each  maid  rebels  against  union 
with  an  old  man ; each  falls  in  love  with  a young  hero,  and, 
unabashed,  asks  him  to  flee  with  her.  In  the  former  tale 
the  heroine’s  charms  win  the  hero,  while  in  the  latter  he  is 
overcome  by  the  violent  insistence  of  a woman  not  to  be 
gainsaid.  In  both  stories  love  brings  the  hero  to  his  death. 

The  Irish  genius  also  showed  an  aptitude  for  lyric  ex- 
pression, and  at  an  early  period  developed  elaborate  modes 
of  rhymed  and  alliterative  verse.1  Peculiarly  beautiful 
are  the  poems  descriptive  of  nature 2 and  those  reflecting 
the  Gaelic  belief  in  a future  life.  A charming  description 
of  Elysium  is  offered  by  The  Voyage  of  Bran , a Saga  of  the 
Otherworld,  dating  from  the  seventh  century.  Its  verse 
portions  preponderate,  the  prose  serving  as  their  frame.3 
But  it  opens  in  prose,  telling  how  one  day,  walking  near  his 
stronghold,  Bran  heard  sweet  music  behind  him,  and  as 
often  as  he  turned  the  music  was  still  behind  him.  He  fell 
asleep  at  last  from  the  sweetness  of  the  strains.  When  he 
awoke,  he  found  by  him  a branch  silvery  with  white  blossoms. 
He  took  it  to  his  home,  where  was  seen  a woman  who  sang  : 

“A  branch  of  the  apple-tree  from  Emain  I bring; 

Twigs  of  white  silver  are  on  it, 

Crystal  boughs  with  blossoms. 

There  is  a distant  isle, 

Around  which  sea-horses  (waves)  glisten 

And  the  woman  sings  on,  picturing  “Mag  Mell  of  many 
flowers,”  and  of  the  host  ever  rowing  thither  from  across 
the  sea;  till  at  last  Bran  and  his  people  set  forth  in  their 
boat  and  row  on  and  on,  till  they  are  welcomed  by  sweet 
women  with  music  and  wine  in  island-fields  of  flowers  and 
bird-song.  There  is  no  sad  strain  in  the  music  from  this 
Gaelic  land  beyond  the  grave. 

1 Cf.  Hyde,  o.c.,  chaps,  xxi.,  xxxvi. 

2 For  examples  see  Kuno  Meyer,  Selections  from  Ancient  Irish  Poetry  (Constable, 
1911). 

3 The  Voyage  of  Bran,  edited  and  translated  by  Kuno  Meyer,  with  essays  on 
the  Celtic  Otherworld,  by  Alfred  Nutt  (2  vols.,  David  Nutt,  London,  1895).  A 
Saga  usually  is  prose  interspersed  with  lyric  verses  at  critical  points  of  the  story. 


I32 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


Irish  traits  observed  in  poem  and  Saga  are  reflected  in 
accounts  of  not  improbable  events,  and  exemplified  in 
Christian  saints;  for  the  Irish  did  not  change  their  spots 
upon  conversion.  How  Christianity  failed  to  affect  the 
manners  of  the  ancient  Irish  is  illustrated  in  the  story  of  the 
Cursing  of  Tara,  where  tradition  says  the  high-kings  of 
Ireland  held  sway.  The  account  is  scarcely  historical;  yet 
Tara  existed,  and  fell  to  decay  in  the  sixth  century.1  Its 
cursing  was  on  this  wise.  King  Dermot  was  high-king  of 
Ireland.  His  laws  were  obeyed  throughout  the  land,  and 
over  its  length  and  breadth  marched  his  spear-bearer  assert- 
ing the  royal  authority,  and  holding  the  king’s  spear  across 
his  body  before  him.  Every  town  and  castle  must  open 
wide  enough  to  let  this  spear  pass,  carried  crosswise.  The 
spear-bearer  comes  to  the  strong  house  of  Aedh.  He  finds 
the  outer  palisade  breached  to  let  the  spear  through,  but  not 
the  inner  house.  The  bearer  demands  that  it  be  torn  open. 
“Order  it  so  as  to  please  thyself,”  quoth  Aedh,  as  he  smote 
off  his  head. 

King  Dermot  sent  his  men  to  lay  waste  Aedh’s  land 
and  seize  his  person.  Aedh  flees,  and  at  last  takes  refuge 
with  St.  Ruadhan.  The  king  again  sends  messengers,  but 
they  are  foiled,  till  he  comes  himself,  seizes  the  outlaw,  and 
carries  him  off  to  hang  him  at  Tara.  Thereupon  St.  Ruadhan 
seeks  St.  Brendan  of  Birr  and  others.  They  proceed  to 
Tara  and  demand  the  prisoner.  The  king  answers  that 
the  Church  cannot  protect  lawbreakers.  So  all  the  clergy 
rang  their  bells  and  chanted  psalms  against  the  king  before 
Tara,  and  fasted  on  him  (in  order  that  their  imprecations 
might  be  more  potent),  and  he  fasted  on  them.  King  and 
clergy  fasted  on  each  other,  till  one  night  the  clergy  made 
a show  of  eating  in  sight  of  the  town,  but  passed  the  meat 
and  ale  beneath  their  cowls.  So  the  king  was  tricked  into 
taking  meat;  and  an  evil  dream  came  to  him,  by  which  he 
knew  the  clergy  would  succeed  in  destroying  his  kingdom. 

In  the  morning  the  king  went  and  said  to  the  clergy : 
“111  have  ye  done  to  undo  my  kingdom,  because  I main- 

1 On  Tara,  see  Index  in  O’Curry’s  Manners  and,  Customs  of  the  Ancient  Irish  ; 
also  Hyde,  Literary  History,  pp.  126-130.  For  this  story,  see  O’Grady,  Silva  Gaedclica, 
pp.  77-88  (London,  1892) ; Hyde,  pp.  226-232. 


CHAP.  VII 


CELTIC  STRAINS 


*33 


tained  the  righteous  cause.  Be  thy  diocese,  Ruadhan,  the 
first  one  ruined,  and  may  thy  monks  desert  thee.” 

Said  the  saint : “May  thy  kingdom  droop  speedily.” 

Said  the  king : “Thy  see  shall  be  empty,  and  swine  shall 

root  up  thy  churchyards.” 

Said  the  saint : “Tara  shall  be  desolate,  and  therein  shall 
no  dwelling  be  for  ever.” 

It  was  the  custom  of  ancient  bards  to  utter  an  impreca- 
tion or  “satire”  against  those  offending  them.1  The  irate 
fasting  and  cursing  by  the  Irish  clergy  was  a thinly  Christian- 
ized continuation  of  the  same  Irish  habit,  inspired  by  the 
same  Irish  temper.  There  was  no  chasm  between  the  pagan 
bards  and  the  Christian  clergy,  who  loved  the  Sagas  and 
preserved  them.  They  had  also  their  predecessors  in  the 
Druids,  who  had  performed  the  functions  of  diviners, 
magicians,  priests,  and  teachers,  which  were  assumed  by 
the  clergy  in  the  fifth  and  sixth  centuries.2  Doubtless  many 
of  the  Druids  became  monks. 

Christianity  came  to  the  Irish  as  a new  ardour,  effacing 
none  of  their  characteristics.  Irish  monks  and  Irish  saints 
were  as  irascible  as  Irish  bards  and  Saga  heroes.  The 
Irish  temper  lived  on  in  St.  Columba  of  Iona  and  St. 
Columbanus  of  Luxeuil  and  Bobbio.  Both  of  these  men 
left  Ireland  to  spread  monastic  Christianity,  and  also  because, 
as  Irishmen,  they  loved  to  rove,  like  their  forefathers. 
Christianity  furnished  this  Irish  propensity  with  a definite 
aim  in  the  mission-passion  to  convert  the  heathen.  It 
likewise  brought  the  ascetic  hermit-passion,  which  drove 
these  travel-loving  islanders  over  the  sea  in  search  of 
solitude;  and  so  a yearning  came  on  Irish  monks  to  sail 
forth  to  some  distant  isle  and  gain  within  the  seclusion 
of  the  sea  a hermitage  beyond  the  reach  of  man.  There 
are  many  stories  of  these  explorers.  They  sailed  along 
the  Hebrides,  they  settled  on  the  Shetland  Islands,  they 
reached  the  Faroes,  and  even  brought  back  news  of  Iceland. 
But  before  the  seventh  century  closed,  their  sea  hermitages 


1 See  D’Arbois  de  Jubainville,  Introduction  d la  litt.  celtique,  pp.  259-271  (Paris, 
1883). 

2 See  D’Arbois  de  Jubainville,  Introduction,  etc.,  p.  129  sqq .;  Bertrand,  La 
Religion  des  Gaulois,  chap.  xx.  (Paris,  1897).  Also  O’Curry,  o.c.,  passim. 


134 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


were  harried  by  Norsemen  who  were  sailing  upon  quite 
different  ventures.  From  an  opposite  direction  they  too  had 
reached  the  Shetlands  and  the  Hebrides,  and  had  pushed 
on  farther  south  among  the  islands  off  the  west  coast  of 
Scotland.  So  there  come  sorry  tales  of  monks  fleeing  from 
one  island  to  another.  These  harryings  and  flights  had 
gone  on  for  a century  and  more  before  the  Vikings  landed 
in  Ireland,  apparently  for  the  first  time,  in  795. 1 There 
followed  two  centuries  of  fierce  struggle  with  the  invaders, 
during  which  much  besides  blows  was  exchanged.  Vikings 
and  Irish  learned  from  each  other;  Norse  strains  passed 
into  Irish  literature,  and  conversely  the  Norse  story-tellers 
probably  obtained  the  Saga  form  of  composition. 

The  role  of  the  Irish  in  the  diffusion  of  Christianity  with 
its  accompaniment  of  Latin  culture  will  be  noted  hereafter, 
and  a sketch  of  the  unquestionably  Irish  saint  Columbanus 
will  be  given  in  illustration.  A few  paragraphs  on  his 
almost  namesake  of  Iona,  whose  career  hardly  extended 
beyond  Celtic  circles,  may  fitly  close  the  present  chapter  on 
the  Celtic  genius.  In  him  is  seen  the  truculent  Irishman 
and  the  clan-abbot  of  royal  birth,  violent,  dominating  by 
his  impetuosity  and  the  strident  fervour  of  his  voice;  also 
the  saint,  devoted,  loving,  to  his  followers.  Colum,2  sur- 
named  Cille,  “of  the  church,”  from  his  incessant  devotions, 

1 For  this  whole  story  see  H.  Zimmer,  “Uber  die  friihesten  Beriihrungen  der 
Iren  mit  den  Nordgermanen,”  Sitzungsbericht  der  Preussischen  Akad.,  1891  (1), 
pp.  279-317. 

2 For  the  life  of  Saint  Columba  the  chief  source  is  the  Vita  by  Adamnan,  his 
eighth  successor  as  abbot  of  Iona.  It  contains  well-drawn  sketches  of  the  saint 
and  much  that  is  marvellous  and  incredible.  It  was  edited  with  elaborate  notes 
by  Dr.  W.  Reeves,  for  the  Irish  Archaeological  Society,  in  1857.  His  work, 
rearranged  and  with  a translation  of  the  Vita,  was  republished  as  Vol.  VI.  of 
The  Historians  of  Scotland  (Edinburgh,  1874) ; it  has  also  been  edited  by  J.  T. 
Fowler  (Oxford,  1894).  The  Vita  may  also  be  found  in  Migne,  Palrologia ■ Latina, 
88,  col.  725-776.  Bede,  Ecc.  Hist.  iii.  4,  refers  to  Columba.  The  Gaelic  life  from 
the  Book  of  Lismore  is  published,  with  a translation  by  M.  Stokes,  Anecdota 
Oxoniensia  (Oxford,  Clarendon  Press,  1890).  The  Bodleian  Eulogy,  i.e.  the  Amra 
Choluim  chille,  was  published,  with  translation  by  M.  Stokes,  in  Revue  celtique, 
t.  xx.  (1899);  as  to  its  date,  see  Rev.  celtique,  t.  xvii.  p.  41.  Another  (later)  Gaelic 
life  has  been  published  by  R.  Henebry  in  the  Zeitschrift  fur  celtische  Philologie, 
1901,  and  later.  There  is  an  interesting  article  on  the  hymns  ascribed  to  Columba 
in  Blackwood's  Magazine  for  September  1899.  See  also  Cuissard,  Rev.  celtique, 
t.  v.  p.  207.  The  hymns  themselves  are  in  Dr.  Todd’s  Liber  Hymnorum.  Monta- 
lembert’s  Monks  of  the  West,  book  ix.  (vol.  iii.  Eng.  trans.),  gives  a long,  readable,  and 
uncritical  account  of  “St.  Columba,  the  Apostle  of  Caledonia.” 


CHAP.  VII 


CELTIC  STRAINS 


i35 


and  by  his  Latin  name  known  as  Columba,  was  born  at 
Gartan,  Donegal,  in  the  extreme  north-west  of  Ireland, 
about  the  year  520.  His  family  was  chief  in  that  part  of  the 
country,  and  through  both  his  parents  he  was  descended 
from  kings.  He  does  not  belong  to  those  early  Irish  saints 
represented  by  Patrick  and  his  storied  coadjutors  of  both 
sexes,  whose  missionary  activities  were  not  constrained 
within  any  ascetic  rule;  but  to  the  later  generation  who 
lived  in  those  monastic  communities  which  were  so  very 
typically  Irish.1 

Columba  appears  to  have  passed  his  youth  wandering 
from  one  monastery  to  another,  and  his  manhood  in  founding 
them.  But  so  strong  a nature  could  not  hold  aloof  from  the 
wars  of  his  clan,  which  belonged  to  the  northern  branch  of 
the  Hy-neill  race,  then  maintaining  its  independence  against 
the  southern  branch.  The  head  of  the  latter  was  that  very 
King  Dermot  (usually  called  Diarmaid  or  Diarmuid)  against 
whom  St.  Ruadhan 2 and  the  clergy  fasted  and  rang  their 

1 The  Irish  monastery  was  ordered  as  an  Irish  clan,  and  indeed  might  be  a 
clan  monastically  ordered.  At  the  head  was  an  abbot,  not  elected  by  the  monks, 
but  usually  appointed  by  the  preceding  abbot  from  his  own  family,  as  an  Irish 
king  appointed  his  successor.  The  monks  ordinarily  belonged  to  the  abbot’s  clan. 
They  lived  in  an  assemblage  of  huts.  Some  devoted  themselves  to  contemplation, 
prayer,  and  writing ; more  to  manual  labour.  There  were  recluses  among 
them.  Besides  the  monks  other  members  of  the  clan  living  near  the  “monastery” 
owed  it  duties  and  were  entitled  to  its  protection  and  spiritual  ministration. 
The  abbot  might  be  an  ordained  priest ; he  rarely  was  a bishop,  though  he  had 
bishops  under  him  who  at  his  bidding  performed  such  episcopal  functions  as  that 
of  ordination.  But  he  was  the  ruler,  lay  as  well  as  spiritual.  Not  infrequently 
he  also  was  a king.  Although  there  was  no  common  ordering  of  Irish  monasteries, 
a head  monastery  might  bear  rule  over  its  daughter  foundations,  as  did  Columba’s 
primal  monastery  of  Iona  over  those  in  Ireland  or  Northern  Britain  which  owed 
their  origin  to  him.  Irish  monasteries  might  march  with  their  clan  on  military 
expeditions,  or  carry  on  a war  of  monastery  against  monastery,  “a.d.  763.  A 
battle  was  fought  at  Argamoyn,  between  the  fraternities  of  Clonmacnois  and 
Durrow,  where  Dermod  Duff,  son  of  Donnell,  was  killed  with  200  men  of  the 
fraternity  of  Durrow.  Bresal,  son  of  Murchadh,  with  the  fraternity  of  Clonmacnois, 
was  victor”  ( Ancient  Annals ).  This  entry  is  not  alone,  for  there  is  another  one 
of  the  year  816,  in  which  a “fraternity  of  Columcille”  seems  to  have  been  worsted 
in  battle,  and  then  to  have  gone  “to  Tara  to  curse”  the  reigning  king.  See 
Reeve’s  Adamnan's  Life  of  Columba , p.  255.  Of  course  Irish  armies  felt  no  qualms 
at  sacking  the  monasteries  and  slaying  the  monks  of  another  kingdom.  The 
sanctuaries  of  Clonmacnois,  Kildare,  Clonard,  Armagh  were  plundered  as  readily 
by  “Christian”  Irishmen  as  by  heathen  Danes.  In  the  ninth  century,  Phelim, 
King  of  Munster,  was  an  abbot  and  a bishop  too;  but  he  sacked  the  sacred  places 
of  Ulster  and  killed  their  monks  and  clergy.  See  G.  T.  Stokes,  Ireland  and  the 
Celtic  Church;  Killen,  Eccl.  Hist,  of  Ireland,  vol.  i.  p.  145  sqq. 

2 The  title  of  saint  is  regularly  given  to  the  higher  clergy  of  this  period  in  Ireland. 


136 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


bells.  Columba  appears  to  have  had  no  part  in  the  cursing 
of  Tara.  But  Dermot  was  the  king  against  whom  the  wars 
of  his  family  were  waged,  and  all  the  traditions  point  to  the 
saint  as  their  instigator.  The  account  given  by  Keating, 
the  seventeenth  century  historian  of  Gaelic  Ireland,  is 
curious.1 

“Diarmuid  . . . King  of  Ireland,  made  the  Feast  of  Tara,  and 
a nobleman  was  killed  at  that  feast  by  Curran,  son  of  Aodh; 
wherefore  Diarmuid  killed  him  in  revenge  for  that,  because  he 
committed  murder  at  the  Feast  of  Tara,  against  the  law  and  the 
sanctuary  of  the  feast ; and  before  Curran  was  put  to  death  he 
fled  to  the  protection  of  Colum-Cille,  and  notwithstanding  the 
protection  of  Colum-Cille  he  was  killed  by  Diarmuid.  And  from 
that  it  arose  that  Colume-Cille  mustered  the  Clanna  Neill  of  the 
North,  because  his  own  protection  and  the  protection  of  the  sons 
of  Earc  was  violated.  Whereupon  the  battle  of  Cul  Dreimhne 
was  gained  over  Diarmuid  and  over  the  Connaughtmen,  so  that 
they  were  defeated  through  the  prayer  of  Colum-Cille.” 

Keating  adds  that  another  book  relates  another  cause  of 
this  battle,  to  wit : 

“.  . . the  false  judgment  which  Diarmuid  gave  against  Colum- 
Cille  when  he  wrote  the  gospel  out  of  the  book  of  Finnian  without 
his  knowledge.2  Finnian  said  that  it  was  to  himself  belonged 
the  son-book  which  was  written  from  his  book,  and  they  both 
selected  Diarmuid  as  judge  between  them.  This  is  the  decision 
that  Diarmuid  made : that  to  every  book  belongs  its  son-book, 
as  to  every  cow  belongs  her  calf.” 

Less  consistent  is  the  tradition  that  Columba  left  Ireland 
because  of  the  sentence  passed  upon  him  by  certain  of  his 
fellow-saints,  as  penance  for  the  bloodshed  which  he  had 
occasioned.  Indeed,  for  his  motives  one  need  hardly  look 
beyond  the  desire  to  spread  the  Gospel,  and  the  passion 
of  the  Irish  monk  peregrinam  ducere  vitam.  Reaching  the 
west  of  Scotland,  Columba  was  granted  that  rugged  little 
island  then  called  Hy,  but  Iova  afterwards,  and  now  Iona. 
This  was  in  563,  and  he  continued  abbot  of  Hy  until  his 

1 “ The  History  of  Ireland  by  Geofry  Keating ” in  the  original  Gaelic  with  an 
English  translation  by  Comyn  and  Dineen  (Irish  Texts  Society.  David  Nutt, 
London,  1902-1908). 

2 This  means  that  he  copied  a manuscript  belonging  to  Finnian. 


CHAP.  VII 


CELTIC  STRAINS 


i37 


death  in  597.  Not  that  he  stayed  there  all  these  years, 
for  he  moved  about  ceaselessly,  founding  churches  among 
the  Piets  and  Scots.  Some  thirty  foundations  are  attributed 
to  him,  besides  his  thirty  odd  in  Ireland. 

Adamnan’s  Vita  largely  consists  of  stories  of  the  saint’s 
miracles  and  prophecies  and  the  interpositions  of  Providence 
in  his  behalf.  It  nevertheless  gives  a consistent  picture  of 
this  man  of  powerful  frame  and  mighty  voice,  restless  and 
unrestrained,  ascetically  tempered,  working  always  for  the 
spread  of  his  religion.  We  see  him  compelling  men  to  set 
sail  with  him  despite  the  tempest,  or  again  rushing  into  “the 
green  glass  water  up  to  his  knees”  to  curse  a plunderer  in 
the  name  of  Christ.  “He  was  not  a gentle  hero,”  says  an 
old  Gaelic  Eulogy.  Yet  if  somewhat  quick  to  curse,  he 
was  still  readier  to  bless,  and  if  he  could  be  masterful,  his 
life  had  its  own  humility.  “Surely  it  was  great  lowliness 
in  Colomb  Cille  that  he  himself  used  to  take  off  his  monks’ 
sandals  and  wash  their  feet  for  them.  He  often  used  to 
carry  his  portion  of  corn  on  his  back  to  the  mill,  and  grind 
it  and  bring  it  home  to  his  house.  He  never  used  to  put 
linen  or  wool  against  his  skin.  His  side  used  to  come 
against  the  bare  mould.”  1 

So  this  impetuous  life  passes  before  our  eyes  filled  with 
adventure,  touched  with  romance,  its  colours  heightened 
through  tradition.  As  it  draws  to  its  close  the  love  in  it 
seems  to  exceed  the  wrath ; and  thus  it  ends : as  the  old 
man  was  resting  himself  the  day  before  his  death,  seated  by 
the  barn  of  the  monastery,  the  white  work-horse  came  and 
laid  its  head  against  his  breast.  Late  the  same  night, 
reclining  on  his  stone  bed  he  spoke  his  last  words,  enjoining 
peace  and  charity  among  the  monks.  Rising  before  dawn 
he  entered  the  church  alone,  knelt  beside  the  altar,  and 
there  he  died.2  His  memory  still  hangs  the  peace  of  God 
and  man  over  the  Island  of  Iona. 


1 The  Life  of  Colomb  Cille  from  the  Book  of  Lismore. 


2 Adamnan. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


TEUTON  QUALITIES:  ANGLO-SAXON,  GERMAN,  NORSE 

There  were  intellectual  as  well  as  emotional  differences 
between  the  Celts  and  Teutons.  A certain  hard  rationality 
and  grasp  of  fact  mark  the  mentality  of  the  latter.  On 
land  or  sea  they  view  the  situation,  realize  its  opportunities, 
their  own  strength,  and  the  opposing  odds : with  definite 
and  persistent  purpose  they  move,  they  fight,  they  labour. 
The  quality  of  purposefulness  becomes  clearer  as  they  emerge 
from  the  forest  obscurity  of  their  origins  into  the  open  light 
of  history.  To  a definite  goal  of  conquest  and  settlement 
Theodoric  led  the  Ostrogoths  from  Moesia  westward,  and 
fought  his  way  into  Italy.  With  persistent  purposefulness 
Clovis  and  his  Merovingian  successors  intrigued  and  fought. 
Among  Anglo-Saxon  pirates  the  aim  of  plunder  quickly 
grew  to  that  of  conquest.  And  in  times  which  were  to 
follow,  there  was  purpose  in  every  voyage  and  battle  of  the 
Vikings.  The  Teutons  disclose  more  strength  and  per- 
sistency of  desire  than  the  Celts.  Their  feelings  were 
slower,  less  impulsive ; also  less  quickly  diverted,  more 
unswerving,  even  fiercer  in  their  strength.  The  general 
characteristic  of  Teutonic  emotion  is  its  close  connection 
with  some  motive  grounded  in  rational  purpose. 

Caesar’s  short  sketch  of  the  Germans 1 gives  the  impres- 
sion of  barbarous  peoples,  numerous,  brave,  overweening. 
They  had  not  reached  the  agricultural  stage,  but  were 
devoted  to  war  and  hunting.  There  were  no  Druids  among 

1 B.G.  iv.  1-3;  vi.  21-28.  For  convenience  I use  the  word  Teuton  as  the 
general  term  and  German  as  relating  to  the  Teutons  of  the  lands  still  known  as 
German.  But  with  reference  to  the  times  of  Caesar  and  Tacitus  the  latter  word 
must  be  taken  generally. 


138 


CHAP.  VIII 


TEUTON  QUALITIES 


i39 


them.  Their  bodies  were  inured  to  hardship.  They  lived 
in  robust  independence,  and  were  subject  to  their  chiefs 
only  in  war.  Their  fiercest  folk,  the  Suevi,  from  boyhood 
would  submit  neither  to  labour  nor  discipline,  that  their 
strength  and  spirit  might  be  unchecked.  It  was  deemed 
shameful  for  a youth  to  have  to  do  with  women  before  his 
twentieth  year. 

The  Roman  world  knew  more  about  these  Germans  by 
the  year  a.d.  99  when  Tacitus  composed  his  Germania. 
They  had  scarcely  yet  turned  to  agriculture.  Respect  for 
women  appears  clearly.  These  barbarians  are  most  reluctant 
to  give  their  maidens  as  hostages ; they  listen  to  their 
women’s  voices  and  deem  that  there  is  something  holy  and 
prophetic  in  their  nature.  Upon  marriage,  oxen,  a horse, 
and  shield  and  lance  make  up  the  husband’s  morgengabe  to 
his  bride : she  is  to  have  part  in  her  husband’s  valour. 
Fornication  and  adultery  are  rare,  the  adulteress  is  ruthlessly 
punished ; men  and  maidens  marry  late.  The  men  of  the 
tribe  decide  important  matters,  which,  however,  the  chiefs 
have  previously  discussed  apart.  The  people  sit  down 
armed ; the  priests  proclaim  silence ; the  king  or  war- 
leader  is  listened  to,  and  the  assembly  is  swayed  by  his 
persuasion  and  repute.  They  dissent  with  murmurs,  or 
assent  brandishing  their  spears.  There  is  thus  participa- 
tion by  the  tribe,  and  yet  deference  to  reputation.  This 
description  discloses  Teutonic  freedom  as  different  from 
Celtic  political  unrestraint.  Tacitus  also  speaks  of  the 
Germanic  Comiiatus , consisting  of  a chief  and  a band  of 
youths  drawn  together  by  his  repute,  who  fight  by  his  side 
and  are  disgraced  if  they  survive  him  dead  upon  the  field. 
In  time  of  peace  they  may  seek  another  leader  from  a tribe 
at  war;  for  the  Germans  are  impatient  of  peace  and  toil, 
and  slothful  except  when  fighting  or  hunting.  They  had 
further  traits  and  customs  which  are  barbaric  rather  than 
specifically  Teutonic : cruelty  and  faithlessness  toward 

enemies,  feuds,  wergeld,  drinking  bouts,  gambling,  slavery, 
absence  of  testaments. 

Between  the  time  of  Tacitus  and  the  fifth  century  many 
changes  came  over  the  Teuton  tribes.  Early  tribal  names 
vanished,  while  a regrouping  into  larger  and  apparently 


140 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


more  mobile  aggregates  took  place.  The  obscure  revolutions 
occurring  in  Central  Europe  in  the  second,  third,  and  fourth 
centuries  do  not  indicate  social  progress,  but  rather  retro- 
gression from  an  almost  agricultural  state  toward  stages  of 
migratory  unrest.1  We  have  already  noted  the  fortunes 
of  those  tribes  that  helped  to  barbarize  and  disrupt  the 
Roman  Empire,  and  lost  themselves  among  the  Romance 
populations  of  Italy,  Gaul,  and  Spain.  We  are  here  con- 
cerned with  those  that  preserved  their  native  speech  and 
qualities,  and  as  Teuton  peoples  became  contributories  to 
the  currents  of  mediaeval  evolution . 

I 

When  the  excellent  Apollinaris  Sidonius,  writing  in  the 
middle  of  the  fifth  century  to  a young  friend  about  to  enter 
the  Roman  naval  service  off  the  coasts  of  Gaul,  characterized 
the  Saxon  pirates  as  the  fiercest  and  most  treacherous  of 
foes,  whose  way  is  to  dash  upon  their  prey  amid  the  tempest, 
and  for  whom  shipwreck  is  a school,  he  spoke  truly,  and 
also  illustrated  the  difference  that  lies  in  point  of  view.2 
Fierce  they  were,  and  hardy  seamen,  likewise  treacherous  in 
Roman  eyes,  and  insatiate  plunderers.  From  the  side  of 
the  sea  they  represented  the  barbarian  disorder  threaten- 
ing the  world.  The  Roman  was  scarcely  interested  in  the 
fact  that  these  men  kept  troth  among  themselves  with 
energy  and  sacrifice  of  life.  The  Saxons,  Angles,  Jutes, 
whose  homes  ashore  lay  between  the  Weser  and  the  Elbe  and 
through  Sleswig,  Holstein,  and  Denmark,  possessed  interest- 
ing qualities  before  they  landed  in  Britain,  where  under 
novel  circumstances  they  were  to  develop  their  character 
and  institutions  with  a rapidity  that  soon  raised  them  above 
the  condition  of  their  kin  who  had  stayed  at  home.  Bands 
of  them  had  touched  Britain  before  the  year  41 1,  when  the 
Roman  legions  were  withdrawn.  But  it  was  only  with  the 
landing  of  Hengest  and  Horsa  in  449  that  they  began  to 


1 These  views  are  set  forth  brilliantly,  but  with  exaggeration,  by  Fustel  de 
Coulanges,  in  L'Invasion  germanique,  vol.  ii.  of  his  Institutions  politiques,  etc.  (revised 
edition,  Paris,  1891). 

2 Apoll.  Sid.  Epist.  viii.  6 (Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  58,  col.  697). 


CHAP.  VIII 


TEUTON  QUALITIES 


141 


come  in  conquering  force.  The  Anglo-Saxon  conquest  of 
the  island  went  on  for  two  centuries.  Information  regard- 
ing it  is  of  the  scantiest;  but  the  Britons  seem  to  have 
been  submerged  or  driven  westward.  There  is  at  least  no 
evidence  of  any  friendly  mingling  of  the  races.  The  invaders 
accepted  neither  Christianity  nor  Roman  culture  from  the 
conquered,  and  Britain  became  a heathen  England. 

While  these  Teuton  peoples  were  driving  through  their 
conquest  and  also  fighting  fiercely  with  each  other,  their 
characters  and  institutions  were  becoming  distinctively 
Anglo-Saxon.  Under  stress  of  ceaseless  war,  military  leaders 
became  hereditary  kings,  whose  powers,  at  least  in  intervals 
of  peace,  were  controlled  by  the  Witan  or  Council  of  the 
Wise,  and  limited  by  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Hundred  Court. 
Likewise  the  temporary  ties  of  the  Teutonic  Comitatus 
became  permanent  in  the  body  of  king’s  companions  (thegns, 
thanes),  whose  influence  was  destined  to  supplant  that  of 
the  eorls,  the  older  nobility  of  blood.  The  Comitatus 
principle  pervades  Anglo-Saxon  history  as  well  as  literature ; 
it  runs  through  the  Beowulj  epic ; Anglo-Saxon  Biblical 
versifiers  transfer  it  to  the  followers  of  Abraham  and  the 
disciples  of  Christ;  and  every  child  knows  the  story  of 
Lilia,  faithful  thegn,  who  flung  himself  between  his 
Northumbrian  king,  Edwin,  and  the  sword  of  the  assassin 
— the  latter  sent  by  a West  Saxon  king  and  doubtless  one 
of  his  faithful  thegns.  Their  law  consisted  mainly  in  the 
graded  wergeld  for  homicide,  in  an  elaborate  tariff  of  com- 
pensation for  personal  injuries,  and  in  penalties  for  cattle- 
raiding. Beyond  the  matter  of  theft,  property  law  was 
still  unwritten  custom,  and  contract  law  did  not  exist. 
The  rules  of  procedure,  for  instance  in  the  Hundred  Court, 
were  elaborate,  as  is  usual  in  a primitive  society  where  the 
substantial  rights  are  simple,  and  the  important  thing  is  to 
induce  the  parties  to  submit  to  an  adjudication.  Similar 
Teutonic  customs  obtained  elsewhere.  But  the  course  of 
their  development  in  Saxon  England  displays  an  ever  clearer 
recognition  of  fundamental  principles  of  English  law : 
justice  is  public;  the  parties  immediately  concerned  must 
bring  the  case  to  court  and  there  conduct  it  according  to 
rules  of  procedure ; the  court  of  freemen  hear  and  determine, 


142 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


but  do  not  extend  the  inquiry  beyond  the  evidence  adduced 
before  them ; to  interpret  and  declare  the  law  is  the  function 
of  the  court,  not  of  the  king  and  his  officers.1 

During  these  first  centuries  in  England,  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  endowment  of  character  and  faculty  becomes  clearly 
shown  in  events  and  expressed  in  literature.  A battle- 
loving  people  whose  joy  in  fight  flashes  from  their  “shield- 
play”  and  “sword-game”  epithets,  even  as  their  fondness 
for  seafaring  is  seen  in  such  phrases  as  “wave-floater,” 
“foam-necked,”  “like  a swan”  breasting  the  “swan-road” 
of  the  sea.  But  their  sword-games  and  wave-floatings  had 
purpose,  a quality  that  became  large  and  steady  as  genera- 
tion after  generation,  unstopped  by  fortress,  forest,  or  river, 
pushed  on  the  conquest  of  England.  When  that  conquest 
had  been  completed,  and  these  Saxons  were  in  turn  hard 
pressed  by  their  Danish  kin  more  lately  sailing  from  the 
north,  their  courage  still  could  not  be  overborne.  It  is 
reflected  in  the  overweening  mood  of  Maldon,  the  poem 
which  is  also  called  The  Death  of  Byrhtnoth.  The  cold  grey 
scene  lies  in  the  north  of  England.  The  Viking  invaders 
demand  rings  of  gold ; Byrhtnoth,  the  Alderman  of  the 
East  Saxons,  retorts  scornfully.  So  the  fight  begins  with 
arrows  and  spear  throwings  across  the  black  water.  The 
Saxons  hold  the  ford.  The  Sea-wolves  cannot  force  it. 
They  call  for  leave  to  cross.  In  his  overmood  Byrhtnoth 
answers:  “To  you  this  is  yielded:  come  straightway  to 
us ; God  only  wots  who  shall  hold  fast  the  place  of  battle.” 
In  the  bitter  end  when  Byrhtnoth  is  killed,  still  speaks  his 
thane : “ Mind  shall  the  harder  be,  heart  the  keener,  mood 
the  greater,  as  our  might  lessens.  Here  lies  our  Elder  hewn 
to  death.  I am  old;  I will  not  go  hence.  I think  to  lay 
me  down  by  the  side  of  my  lord.” 

The  spiritual  gifts  of  the  Anglo-Saxons  are  discernible 
in  their  language,  which  so  adequately  could  render  the 
Bible 2 and  the  phraseology  of  the  Seven  Liberal  Arts. 

1 See  Pollock  and  Maitland,  History  of  English  Law;  and  Pollock,  English  Law 
before  the  Norman  Conquest,  Law  Quarterly  Review. 

2 The  ancient  Anglo-Saxon  version  is  Anglo-Saxon  through  and  through . 
The  considerable  store  of  Latin  (or  Greek)  words  retained  by  the  “authorized” 
English  version  (for  example,  Scripture,  Testament,  Genesis,  Exodus,  etc., 
prophet,  evangelist,  religion,  conversion,  adoption,  temptation,  redemption, 


CHAP.  VIII 


TEUTON  QUALITIES 


i43 


Its  terms  were  somewhat  more  concrete  and  physical  than 
the  Latin,  but  readily  lent  themselves  to  figurative  meanings. 
More  palpably  the  poetry  with  its  reflection  upon  life  shows 
the  endowment  of  the  race.  Its  elegiac  mood  is  marked. 
In  an  old  poem  is  heard  the  voice  of  one  who  sails  with 
hapless  care  the  exile’s  way,  and  must  forego  his  dear  lord’s 
gifts : in  sleep  he  kisses  him,  and  again  lays  hands  and  head 
upon  those  knees,  as  in  times  past.  Then  wakes  the  friend- 
less man,  and  sees  the  ocean’s  waves,  the  gulls  spreading 
their  wings,  rime  and  snow  falling.  More  impersonal  is 
the  heavy  tone  of  a meditative  fragment  over  the  ruins, 
apparently,  of  a Roman  city : 

“Wondrous  is  this  wall-stone, 
fates  have  broken  it, 
have  burst  the  stronghold, 
roofs  are  fallen, 
towers  tottering, 
hoar  gate-towers  despoiled, 
shattered  the  battlements, 
riven,  fallen. 


Earth’s  grasp  holdeth 

the  mighty  workmen 

worn  away,  done  for, 

in  the  hard  grip  of  the  grave.”  1 

But  the  noblest  presentation  of  character  in  pagan  Anglo- 
Saxon  poetry  is  afforded  by  the  epic  poem  of  Beowulf , which 
tells  the  story  of  a Geatic  hero  who  sets  out  for  Denmark 
to  slay  a monster,  accomplishes  the  feat,  is  nobly  rewarded 
by  the  Danish  king,  and  returns  to  rule  his  own  people  justly 
for  fifty  winters,  when  his  valiant  and  beneficent  life  ends 
in  a last  victorious  conflict  with  a hoard-guarding  dragon. 
The  myth  and  tradition  were  not  peculiarly  Anglo-Saxon; 
but  the  finally  recast  and  finished  work,  noble  in  diction, 
sentiment,  and  action,  expresses  the  highest  ethics  of  Anglo- 

salvation  and  damnation)  were  all  translated  into  sheer  Anglo-Saxon.  See 
Toller,  Outlines  of  the  History  of  the  English  Language  (Macmillan  & Co.,  1900), 
pp.  90-101.  Some  hundreds  of  years  before,  Ulfilas’s  fourth  century  Gothic 
translation  had  shown  a Teutonic  tongue  capable  of  rendering  the  thought  of 
the  Pauline  epistles. 

1 Cf.  generally,  R.  W.  Chambers,  Widsith  (Cambridge,  1913),  and  W.  P.  Ker, 
English  Literature  Medieval  (London,  1913). 


144 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


Saxon  heathendom.  Beowulf  does  what  he  ought  to  do, 
heroically ; and  finds  satisfaction  and  reward.  He  does 
not  seek  his  pleasure,  though  that  comes  with  gold  and 
mead-drinking;  consciousness  of  deeds  done  bravely  and 
the  assurance  of  fame  sweeten  death  at  last.1 

A century  or  more  after  the  composition  of  this  poem, 
there  lived  an  Anglo-Saxon  whose  aims  were  spiritualized 
through  Chiistianity,  whose  vigorous  mind  was  broadened 
by  such  knowledge  and  philosophy  as  his  epoch  had  gathered 
from  antique  sources,  and  whose  energies  were  trained  in 
generalship  and  the  office  of  a king.  He  presents  a life 
intrinsically  good  and  true,  manifesting  itself  in  warfare 
against  heathen  barbarism  and  in  endeavour  to  rule  his 
people  righteously  and  enlarge  their  knowledge.  Many 
of  the  qualities  and  activities  of  Alfred  had  no  place  in  the 
life  of  Beowulf.  Yet  the  heathen  hero  and  the  Christian 
king  were  hewn  from  the  same  rock  of  Saxon  manhood. 
Alfred’s  life  was  established  upon  principles  of  right  conduct 
generically  the  same  as  those  of  the  poem.  But  Christianity, 
experience,  contact  with  learned  men,  and  education  through 
books,  had  informed  him  of  man’s  spiritual  nature,  and 
taught  him  that  human  welfare  depends  on  knowledge 
and  intent  and  will.  Accordingly,  his  beneficence  does 
not  stop  with  the  armed  safe-guarding  of  his  realm,  but 
seeks  to  compass  the  instruction  of  those  who  should  have 
knowledge  in  order  the  better  to  guide  the  faith  and  conduct 
of  the  people.  “He  seems  to  me  a very  foolish  man  and 
inexcusable,  who  will  not  increase  his  knowledge  the  while 
that  he  is  in  this  world,  and  always  wish  and  will  that  he 
may  come  to  the  everlasting  life  where  nothing  shall  be  dark 
or  unknown.”  2 

II 

In  spite  of  the  general  Teutonic  traits  and  customs  which 
the  Germans  east  and  west  of  the  Rhine  possessed  in  common 

1 See  the  “Beowulf”  translated  in  Gummere’s  Oldest  English  Epic  (Macmillan, 

1909). 

2 This  is  the  closing  sentence  of  Alfred’s  Blossoms,  culled  from  divers  sources. 
Hereafter  (Chapter  IX.)  when  speaking  of  the  introduction  of  antique  and  Christian 
culture  there  will  be  occasion  to  note  more  specifically  what  Alfred  accomplished  in 
his  attempt  to  increase  knowledge  throughout  his  kingdom. 


CHAP.  VIII 


TEUTON  QUALITIES 


i45 


with  the  Anglo-Saxons,  distinct  qualities  appear  in  the  one 
and  the  other  from  the  moment  of  our  nearer  acquaintance 
with  their  separate  history  and  literature.  So  scanty, 
however,  are  the  literary  remains  of  German  heathendom 
that  recourse  must  be  had  to  Christian  productions  to 
discover,  for  example,  that  with  the  Germans  the  sentiment 
of  home  and  its  dear  relationships 1 is  as  marked  as  the 
Anglo-Saxon’s  elegiac  meditative  mood.  Language  bears 
its  witness  to  the  spiritual  endowment  of  both  peoples. 
The  German  dialects  along  the  Rhine  were  rich  in  abstract 
nouns  ending  in  ung  and  keit  and  schaft  and  turn2 

There  remains  one  piece  of  untouched  German  heathenism, 
the  Hildebrandslied , which  dates  from  the  end  of  the  eighth 
century,  and  may  possibly  be  the  sole  survivor  of  a collection 
of  German  poems  made  at  Charlemagne’s  command.3  It  is 
a tale  of  single  combat  between  a father  and  son,  the  counter- 
part of  which  is  found  in  the  Persian,  Irish,  and  Norse 
literatures.  Such  an  incident  might  be  diversely  rendered ; 
armies  might  watch  their  champions  engage,  or  the  combat 
might  occur  unwitnessed  in  some  mountain  gorge;  it  might 
be  described  pathetically  or  in  warrior  mood,  and  the  heroes 
might  fight  in  ignorance,  or  one  of  them  know  well  who  was 
the  man  confronting  him.  In  German,  this  story  is  a part 
of  that  huge  mass  of  legend  which  grew  up  around  the 
memory  of  the  terrible  Hun  Attila,  and  transformed  him  to 
the  Atli  of  Norse  literature,  and  to  the  worthy  King  Etzel  of 
the  Nibelungenlied,  at  whose  Court  the  flower  of  Burgundian 
chivalry  went  down  in  that  fierce  feud  in  which  Etzel  had 
little  part.  Among  his  vassal  kings  appears  the  mighty 
exile  Dietrich  of  Bern,  who  in  the  Nibelungen  reluctantly 
overcomes  the  last  of  the  Burgundian  heroes.  This  Dietrich 
is  none  other  than  Theodoric  the  Ostrogoth,  transformed  in 
legend  and  represented  as  driven  from  his  kingdom  of  Italy 
by  Odoacer,  and  for  the  time  forced  to  take  refuge  with 

1 See  e.g.  in  Otfried’s  Evangelienbuch,  post,  p.  203. 

2 For  example:  skidunga  (Scheidung),  saligheit  (Seligkeit ),  fiantscaft  (Feind- 
schaft),  sheidentuom  (Heidentum).  By  the  eighth  century  the  High  German  of 
the  Bavarians  and  Alemanni  began  to  separate  from  the  Low  German  of  the  lower 
Rhine,  spoken  by  Saxons  and  certain  of  the  Franks.  The  greater  part  of  the 
Frankish  tribes,  and  the  Thuringians,  occupied  intermediate  sections  of  country 
and  spoke  dialects  midway  between  Low  German  and  High. 

3 Text  in  Piper’s  Die  dlteste  Literatur  (Deutsche  National  Lit.). 

VOL.  I. 


L 


146 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


Etzel;  for  the  legend  was  not  troubled  by  the  fact  that 
Attila  was  dead  before  Theodoric  was  born.  Bern  is  the 
name  given  to  Verona,  and  legend  saw  Theodoric ’s  castle 
in  that  most  beautiful  of  Roman  amphitheatres,  where  the 
traveller  still  may  sit  and  meditate  on  many  things.  It  is 
told  also  that  Theodoric  recovered  his  kingdom  in  the 
legendary  Rabenschlacht  fought  by  Ravenna’s  walls.  Old 
Hildebrand  was  his  master-at-arms,  who  had  fled  with  him. 
In  the  Nibelungen  it  is  he  that  cuts  down  Kriemhild,  Etzel’s 
queen,  before  the  monarch’s  eyes;  for  he  could  not  endure 
that  a woman’s  hand  had  slain  Gunther  and  Hagan,  whom, 
exhausted  at  last,  Dietrich’s  strength  had  set  before  her 
helpless  and  bound.  And  now,  after  years  of  absence,  he 
has  recrossed  the  mountains  with  his  king  come  to  claim  his 
kingdom,  and  before  the  armies  he  challenges  the  champion 
of  the  opposing  host.  Here  the  Old  German  poem,  which 
is  called  the  Hildebrandslied , takes  up  the  story : 

“Hildebrand  spoke,  the  wiser  man,  and  asked  as  to  the  other’s 
father  — ‘Or  tell  me  of  what  race  art  thou;  ’twill  be  enough; 
every  one  in  the  realm  is  known  to  me.’ 

“Hadubrand  spoke,  Hildebrand’s  son:  ‘Our  people,  the  old 
and  knowing  of  them,  tell  me  Hildebrand  was  my  father’s  name ; 
mine  is  Hadubrand.  Aforetime  he  fled  to  the  east,  from  Otacher’s 
hate,  fled  with  Dietrich  and  his  knights.  He  left  wife  to  mourn, 
and  ungrown  child.  Dietrich’s  need  called  him.  He  was  always 
in  the  front ; fighting  was  dear  to  him.  I do  not  believe  he  is  alive.’ 

“ ‘ God  forbid,  from  heaven  above,  that  thou  shouldst  wage 
fight  with  so  near  kin.’  He  took  from  his  arm  the  ring  given  by 
the  king,  lord  of  the  Huns.  ‘Lo ! I give  it  thee  graciously.’ 

“Hadubrand  spoke:  ‘With  spear  alone  a man  receives  gift, 

point  against  point.  Too  cunning  art  thou,  old  Hun.  Beguiling 
me  with  words  thou  wouldst  thrust  me  with  thy  spear.  Thou  art 
so  old  — thou  hast  a trick  in  store.  Seafaring  men  have  told  me 
Hildebrand  is  dead.’ 

“Hildebrand  spoke:  ‘O  mighty  God,  a drear  fate  happens. 

Sixty  summers  and  winters,  ever  placed  by  men  among  the  spear- 
men, I have  so  borne  myself  that  bane  got  I never.  Now  shall 
my  own  child  smite  me  with  the  sword,  or  I be  his  death.  ’ ” 

There  is  a break  here  in  the  poem ; but  the  uncon- 
trolled son  evidently  taunted  the  father  with  cowardice. 
The  old  warrior  cries  : 


CHAP.  VIII 


TEUTON  QUALITIES 


147 


“ ‘ Be  he  the  vilest  of  all  the  East  people  who  now  would  refuse 
thee  the  fight  thou  hankerest  after.  Happen  it  and  show  which  of 
us  must  give  up  his  armour.  ’ ” 

The  end  fails,  but  probably  the  son  was  slain. 

Stubborn  and  grim  appears  the  Old  German  character. 
Point  to  point  shall  foes  exchange  gifts.  Such  also  was 
the  way  when  a lord  made  reward;  on  the  spear’s  point 
presenting  the  arm-ring  to  him  who  had  served,  he  accepting 
it  in  like  fashion,  each  on  his  guard  perhaps.  The  Hilde- 
brandslied  exhibits  other  qualities  of  the  German  spirit,  for 
instance  its  bluntness  and  lack  of  tact ; even  its  clumsiness  is 
evinced  in  the  seventy  lines  of  the  poem,  which  although 
broken  is  not  a fragment,  but  a short  poem — a ballad  grace- 
less and  shapeless  because  of  its  stiff  unvarying  lines. 

In  a later  poem,  which  gives  the  story  of  Walter  of 
Aquitaine,  the  same  set  and  stubborn  mood  appears, 
although  lightened  by  rough  banter.  This  legend  existed 
in  Old  German  as  well  as  Anglo-Saxon.  In  the  tenth 
century,  Ekkehart,  a monk  of  St.  Gall,  freely  altering  and 
adding  to  the  tale,  made  of  it  the  small  Latin  epic  which  is 
extant.1  Monk  as  he  was,  he  tells  a spirited  story  in  his 
rugged  hexameters.  He  had  studied  classic  authors  to  good 
purpose;  and  his  poem  of  Walter  fleeing  with  his  love 
Hildegund  from  the  Hunnish  Court  (for  the  all-pervasive 
Attila  is  here  also)  is  vivid,  diversified,  well-constructed— 
qualities  which  may  not  have  been  in  the  story  till  he 
remodelled  it.  Its  leading  incidents  still  present  German 
traits.  Walter  and  Hildegund  carry  off  a treasure  in  their 
flight;  and  it  is  to  get  this  treasure  that  Gunther  urges 
Hagan  (for  they  are  here  too)  to  attack  the  fugitive.  This 
is  Teutonic.  It  was  for  plunder  that  Teuton  tribes  fought 
their  bravest  fights  from  the  time  of  Alaric  and  Genseric  to 
the  Viking  age,  and  the  hoard  has  a great  part  in  Teutonic 
story.  In  the  W altarius  Gunther’s  driving  avarice,  Walter’s 

1 On  the  Waltari  poem,  see  Ebert,  Allgemeine  Gesch.  der  Liter atur  des  Mittel- 
alters,  Bd.  iii.  264-276;  also  K.  Strecker,  “Probleme  in  der  Walthariusforschung,” 
Neue  Jahrbiicher  fiir  klass.  Alter  turns  gesch.  und  Deutsche  Liter  atur,  2te  Jahrgang, 
(Leipzig,  1899),  pp.  573-594,  629-645.  The  author  is  called  Ekkehart  I.  (d.  973), 
being  the  first  of  the  celebrated  monks  bearing  that  name  at  St.  Gall.  The  poem 
is  edited  by  Peiper  (Berlin,  1873),  by  Scheffel  and  Holder  (Stuttgart,  1874),  and 
by  Althof  (Leipzig,  1896) ; it  is  translated  into  German  by  San  Marte  (Magdeburg, 
1853)  and  by  Althof  (Leipzig,  1902). 


148 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


stubborn  defence  of  his  gold  are  Teutonic.  The  humour 
and  the  banter  are  more  distinctly  German,  and  nobly 
German  is  the  relationship  of  trust  and  honour  between 
Walter  and  the  maiden  who  is  fleeing  with  him.  Yet  the 
story  does  not  revolve  around  the  woman  in  it,  but  rather 
around  the  shrewdly  got  and  bravely  guarded  treasure. 

German  traits  obvious  in  the  Hildebrandslied , and  strong 
through  the  Latin  of  the  Waltarius,  evince  themselves  in  the 
epic  of  the  Nibelungenlied  and  in  the  Kudrun , often  called 
its  companion  piece.  The  former  holds  the  strength  of 
German  manhood  and  the  power  of  German  hate,  with  the 
edged  energy  of  speech  accompanying  it.  In  the  latter, 
German  womanhood  is  at  its  best.  Both  poems,  in  their 
extant  form,  belong  to  the  middle  or  latter  part  of  the 
twelfth  century,  and  are  not  unaffected  by  influences  which 
were  not  native  German. 

The  Nibelungenlied  is  but  dimly  reminiscent  of  any 
bygone  love  between  Siegfried  and  Brunhilde,  and  carries 
within  its  own  narrative  a sufficient  explanation  of  Brun- 
hilde’s  jealous  anger  and  Siegfried’s  death.  Kriemhild  is 
left  to  nurse  the  wrath  which  shall  never  cease  to  devise 
vengeance  for  her  husband’s  murderers.  Years  afterwards, 
Hagan  warns  Gunther,  about  to  accept  Etzel’s  invitation, 
that  Kriemhild  is  lancraeche  (long  vengeful).  The  course  of 
that  vengeance  is  told  with  power ; for  the  constructive  soul 
of  a race  contributed  to  this  Volksepos.  The  actors  in  the 
tragedy  are  strikingly  drawn  and  contrasted,  and  are  lifted 
in  true  epic  fashion  above  the  common  stature  by  intensity 
of  feeling  and  the  power  of  will  to  realize  through  unswerving 
action  the  promptings  of  their  natures.  The  fatefulness  of 
the  tale  is  true  to  tragic  reality,  in  which  the  far  results  of 
an  ill  deed  involve  the  innocent  with  the  guilty. 

A comparison  of  the  poem  with  the  Hildebrandslied 
shows  that  the  sense  of  the  pathetic  had  deepened  in  the 
intervening  centuries.  There  is  scarcely  any  pathos  in  the 
earlier  composition,  although  its  subject  is  the  fatal  combat 
between  father  and  son.  But  the  Nibelungen , with  a fiercer 
hate,  can  set  forth  the  heroic  pathos  of  the  lot  of  one,  who, 
struggling  between  fealties,  is  driven  on  to  dishonour  and  to 
death.  This  is  the  pathos  of  the  death  of  Rudiger,  who  had 


CHAP.  VIII 


TEUTON  QUALITIES 


149 


received  the  Burgundians  in  his  castle  on  their  way  to  Etzel’s 
Court,  had  exchanged  gifts  with  them,  and  betrothed  his 
daughter  to  the  youngest  of  the  three  kings.  He  was  as 
unsuspecting  as  Etzel  of  Kriemhild ’s  plot.  But  in  the  end 
Kriemhild  forces  him,  on  his  fealty  as  liegeman,  to  outrage 
his  heart  and  honour,  and  attack  those  whom  he  had  sheltered 
and  guided  onward  — to  their  death. 

Not  much  love  in  this  tale,  only  hate  insatiable.  But 
the  greatness  of  hate  may  show  the  passional  power  of  the 
hating  soul.  The  centuries  have  raised  to  high  relief  the 
elemental  Teutonic  qualities  of  hate,  greed,  courage  and 
devotion,  and  human  personality  has  enlarged  with  the 
heightened  power  of  will.  The  reader  is  affected  with 
admiration  and  sympathy.  First  he  is  drawn  to  Siegfried’s 
bright  morning  courage,  his  noble  masterfulness — his 
character  appears  touched  with  the  ideals  of  chivalry.1 
After  his  death  the  interest  turns  to  Kriemhild  planning  for 
revenge.  It  may  be  that  sympathy  is  repelled  as  her  hate 
draws  within  its  tide  so  much  of  guiltlessness  and  honour; 
and  as  the  doomed  Nibelungen  heroes  show  themselves 
haughty,  strong-handed,  and  stout-hearted  to  the  end,  he 
cheers  them  on,  and  most  heartily  that  grim,  consistent 
Hagen  in  whom  the  old  German  troth  and  treachery  for 
troth’s  sake  are  incarnate. 

The  Kudrun 2 is  a happier  story,  ending  in  weddings 
instead  of  death.  There  was  no  licentiousness  or  infidelity 
between  man  and  wife  in  the  Nibelungen , and  through  all 
its  hate  and  horror  no  outrage  is  done  to  woman’s  honour. 
That  may  be  taken  as  the  leading  theme  of  the  Kudrun. 
An  ardent  wooer,  to  be  sure,  may  seize  and  carry  off  the 
heroine,  and  his  father  drag  her  by  the  hair  on  her  refusal  to 
wed  his  son ; but  her  honour,  and  the  honour  of  all  women 

1 The  description  of  Siegfried’s  love  for  Kriemhild  is  just  touched  by  the 
chivalric  love,  which  exists  in  Wolfram’s  Parzival,  in  Gottfried’s  Tristan,  and  of 
course  in  their  French  models.  See  post,  Chapter  XXIV.  For  example,  as  he 
first  sees  her  who  was  to  be  to  him  “beide  lieb  und  leit,”  he  becomes  “bleich 
unde  rot”;  and  at  her  greeting,  his  spirit  is  lifted  up:  “do  wart  im  von  dem 
gruoze  vil  wol  gehoehet  der  muot.”  And  the  scene  is  laid  in  May  {N ibelun gen- 
lied,  Aventiure  V.,  stanzas  284,  285,  292,  295). 

2 A convenient  edition  of  the  Kudrun  is  Pfeiffer’s  in  Deutsche  Klassiker  des 
Mittelalters  (Leipzig,  1880).  Under  the  name  of  Gudrun  it  is  translated  into 
modern  German  by  Simrock,  and  into  English  by  M.  P.  Nichols  (Boston,  1899). 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


150 

in  the  poem,  is  respected  and  maintained.  The  ideal  of 
womanhood  is  noble  throughout : an  old  king  thus  bids 
farewell  to  his  daughter  on  setting  forth  to  be  married : 
“You  shall  so  wear  your  crown  that  I and  your  mother  may 
never  hear  that  any  one  hates  you.  Rich  as  you  are,  it 
would  mar  your  fame  to  give  any  occasion  for  blame.” 1 

A mediaeval  epic  may  tell  of  the  fortunes  of  several 
generations,  and  the  Kudrun  devotes  a number  of  books  to 
the  heroine’s  ancestors,  making  a half-savage  narrative,  in 
which  one  feels  a conflict  between  ancient  barbarities  and  a 
newer  and  more  courtly  order.  When  the  venturesome 
wooing  and  wedded  fortune  of  Kudrun’s  mother  have  been 
told,  the  poem  turns  to  its  chief  heroine,  who  grows  to 
stately  maidenhood,  and  becomes  betrothed  to  a young 
king,  Herwig.  A rejected  wooer,  the  “Norman”  Prince 
Hartmuth,  by  a sudden  descent  upon  the  land  in  the  absence 
of  its  defenders,  carries  off  Kudrun  and  her  women  by  force 
of  arms,  and  the  king,  her  father,  is  killed  in  an  abortive 
attempt  to  recapture  her.  In  Hartmuth’s  castle  by  the  sea 
Kudrun  spends  bitter  years  waiting  for  deliverance.  His 
sister,  Ortrun,  is  kind  to  her,  but  his  mother,  Gerlint,  treats 
her  shamefully.  The  maiden  is  steadfast.  Between  her  and 
Hartmuth  stands  a double  barrier : his  father  had  killed 
hers;  she  was  betrothed  to  Herwig.  Hartmuth  repels  his 
wicked  mother’s  advice  to  force  her  to  his  will.  In  his 
absence  on  a foray  Gerlint  compels  Kudrun  to  do  unfitting 
tasks.  Hartmuth,  returning,  asks  her : “ Kudrun,  fair 

lady,  how  has  it  been  with  you  while  I and  my  knights  w^ere 
away?” 

“Here  I have  been  forced  to  serve,  to  your  sin  and  my 

1 Kudrun,  viii.  558.  Whatever  may  have  been  the  facts  of  German  life  in 
the  Middle  Ages,  the  literature  shows  respect  for  marriage  and  woman’s  virtue. 
This  remark  applies  not  only  to  those  works  of  the  Middle  High  German  tongue 
which  are  occupied  with  themes  of  Teutonic  origin,  but  also  to  those — Wolfram’s 
Parzival,  for  example — whose  foreign  themes  do  not  force  the  poet  to  magnify 
adulterous  love.  When,  however,  that  is  the  theme  of  the  story,  the  German 
writer,  as  in  Gottfried’s  Tristan,  does  not  fail  to  do  it  justice. 

Willmans,  in  his  Leben  und  Dichtung  Walthers  von  der  Vogelweide  (Bonn,  1882), 
note  ia  on  page  328,  cites  a number  of  passages  from  Middle  High  German  works 
on  the  serious  regard  for  marriage  held  by  the  Germans.  Even  the  German 
minnesingers  sometimes  felt  the  contradiction  between  the  broken  marriage  vow 
and  the  ennobling  nature  of  chivalric  love.  See  Willmans,  ibid.  p.  162  and 
note  7. 


chap,  viii  TEUTON  QUALITIES  151 

shame,”  1 answers  Kudrun — a great  answer,  in  its  truth  and 
self-control. 

After  an  interval  of  kind  treatment  the  old  “she-wolf” 
Gerlint  sets  Kudrun  with  her  faithful  Hildeburg  to  washing 
clothes  in  the  sea.  It  is  winter;  their  garments  are  mean, 
their  feet  are  naked.  They  see  a boat  approaching,  in  which 
are  Kudrun’s  brother  Ortwin,  and  Herwig  her  betrothed,  who 
had  come  before  their  host  as  spies.  A recognition  follows ; 
Herwig  is  for  carrying  them  off;  Ortwin  forbids  it.  “With 
open  force  they  were  taken ; my  hand  shall  not  steal  them 
back”;  dear  as  Kudrun  is,  he  can  take  her  only  ndch  eren 
(as  becomes  his  honour).  When  they  have  gone,  Kudrun 
throws  the  clothes  to  be  washed  into  the  sea.  “No  more 
will  I wash  for  Gerlint;  two  kings  have  kissed  me  and  held 
me  in  their  arms.” 

Kudrun  returns  to  the  castle,  which  soon  is  stormed. 
She  saves  Hartmuth  and  his  sister  from  the  slaughter,  and 
all  sail  home,  where  the  thought  is  now  of  wedding  festivals. 

Kudrun  is  married  to  Herwig ; at  her  advice  Ortwin  weds 
Ortrun,  and  then  she  thinks  of  Hartmuth’s  plight,  and  asks 
her  friend  Hildeburg  whether  she  will  have  him  for  a husband. 
Hildeburg  consents.  Kudrun  commands  that  Hartmuth 
be  brought,  and  bids  him  be  seated  by  the  side  of  her  dear 
friend  “who  had  washed  clothes  along  with  her !” 

“Queen,  you  would  reproach  me  with  that.  I grieved 
at  the  shame  they  put  on  you.  It  was  kept  from  me.” 

“I  cannot  let  it  pass.  I must  speak  with  you  alone, 
Hartmuth.” 

“God  grant  she  means  well  with  me,”  thought  he.  She 
took  him  aside  and  spoke:  “If  you  will  do  as  I bid,  you 
will  part  with  your  troubles.” 

Hartmuth  answered:  “I  know  you  are  so  noble  that 
your  behest  can  be  only  honourable  and  good.  I can  find 
nothing  in  my  heart  to  keep  me  from  doing  your  bidding 
gladly,  Queen.”  2 The  high  quality  of  speech  between  these 
two  will  rarely  be  outdone. 

There  is  directness  and  troth  in  all  these  German  poems. 
Troth  is  an  ideal  which  must  carry  truth  within  it.  The 
more  thoughtful  and  reflecting  German  spirit  will  evince 

1 Kudrun,  xx.  1013.  2 Kudrun,  xxx.  1632  sqq. 


*5  2 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


loyalty  to  truth  itself  as  an  ideal.  Wolfram’s  poem  of 
Parzival  has  this;  and  by  virtue  of  this  same  ideal,  Walter 
von  der  Vogelweide’s  judgments  upon  life  and  emperors  and 
popes  are  whole  and  steady,  unveiling  the  sham,  condemning 
the  lie  and  defying  the  liar.1  In  them  dawns  the  spirit  of 
Luther  and  the  German  Reformation,  with  its  love  of  truth 
stronger  than  its  love  of  art. 


Ill 

Chronologically  these  last  illustrations  of  German  traits 
belong  to  the  mediaeval  time ; and  in  fact  the  Nibelungenlied 
and  Kudrun , and  much  more  Wolfram’s  Parzival  and 
Walter’s  poems,  are  mediaeval,  because  to  some  extent 
affected  by  that  interplay  of  influences  which  made  the 
mediaeval  genius.2  On  the  other  hand,  the  almost  contem- 
poraneous Norse  Sagas  and  the  somewhat  older  Eddie  poems 
exhibit  Teutonic  traits  in  their  northern  integrity.  For  the 
Norse  period  of  free  and  independent  growth  continued  long 
after  the  distinctive  barbarism  of  other  Teutons  had  become 
mediae valized.  There  resulted  under  the  strenuous  con- 
ditions of  Norse  life  that  unique  heightening  of  energy  which 
is  manifested  in  the  deeds  of  the  Viking  age  and  reflected  in 
Norse  literature.3 

This  time  of  extreme  activity  opens  in  the  eighth  century, 
toward  the  end  of  which  Viking  ravagers  began  to  harry 


1 As  to  the  Parzival,  and  Walter’s  poems,  see  post,  Chapters  XXV.,  XXVII. 

2 Ante,  Chapter  I. 

3 It  is  not  known  when  Teutons  first  entered  Denmark  and  the  Scandinavian 
peninsula.  Although  non-Teutonic  populations  may  have  preceded  them,  the 
archaeological  remains  do  not  point  clearly  to  a succession  of  races,  while  they  do 
indicate  ages  of  stone,  bronze,  and  iron  (Sophus  Muller,  Nordische  Alterlums- 
kunde).  The  bronze  ages  began  in  the  Northlands  a thousand  years  or  more 
before  Christ.  In  course  of  time,  beautiful  bronze  weapons  show  what  skill  the 
race  acquired  in  working  metals  not  found  in  Scandinavia,  but  perhaps  brought 
there  in  exchange  for  the  amber  of  the  Baltic  shores.  The  use  of  iron  (native  to 
Scandinavia)  begins  about  500  b.c.  A progressive  facility  in  its  treatment  is 
evinced  down  to  the  Christian  Era.  Then  a foreign  influence  appears  — Rome. 
For  Roman  wares  entered  these  countries  where  the  legionaries  never  set  foot, 
and  native  handicraft  copied  Roman  models  until  the  fourth  century,  when 
northern  styles  reassert  themselves.  The  Scandinavians  themselves  were  un- 
affected by  Roman  wares ; but  after  the  fifth  century  they  began  to  profit  from  their 
intercourse  with  Anglo-Saxons  and  Irish. 


CHAP.  VIII 


TEUTON  QUALITIES 


i53 


the  British  Isles.  St.  Cuthbert’s  holy  island  of  Lindisfarne 
was  sacked  in  793,  and  similar  raids  multiplied  with  por- 
tentous rapidity.  The  coasts  of  Ireland  and  Great  Britain, 
and  the  islands  lying  about  them,  were  well  plundered 
while  the  ninth  century  was  young.  In  Ireland  permanent 
conquests  were  made  near  Dublin,  at  Waterford,  and 
Limerick.  The  second  half  of  this  century  witnesses  the 
great  Danish  Viking  invasion  of  England.  On  the  Con- 
tinent the  Vikings  worried  the  skirts  of  the  Carolingian 
colossus,  and  the  Lowlands  suffered  before  Charlemagne 
was  in  his  grave.  After  his  death  the  trouble  began  in 
earnest.  Not  only  the  coasts  were  ravaged,  but  the  river 
towns  trembled,  on  the  Elbe,  the  Rhine,  the  Somme,  the 
Seine,  the  Loire.  Paris  foiled  or  succumbed  to  more  than 
one  fierce  siege.  About  the  middle  of  the  ninth  century  the 
Vikings  began  to  winter  where  they  had  plundered  in  the 
summer. 

The  north  was  ruled  by  chiefs  and  petty  kings  until 
Harold  Fairhair  overcame  the  chiefs  of  Norway  and  made 
himself  supreme  about  the  year  870.  But  he  established 
his  power  only  after  great  sea-fights,  and  many  of  the 
conquered,  choosing  exile  rather  than  submission,  took 
refuge  in  the  Orkneys,  the  Faroes,  and  other  islands.  Harold 
pursued  with  his  fleets,  and  forced  them  to  further  flight. 
It  was  this  exodus  from  the  islands  and  from  Norway  in  the 
last  years  of  the  ninth  century  that  gave  Iceland  the  greater 
part  of  its  population.  Thither  also  came  other  bold  spirits 
from  the  Norse  holdings  in  Ireland. 

While  these  events  were  happening  in  the  west,  the 
Scandinavians  had  not  failed  to  push  easterly.  Some 
settled  in  Russia,  by  the  Gulf  of  Finland,  others  along  the 
south  shore  of  the  Baltic  between  the  Vistula  and  Oder. 
So  their  holdings  in  the  tenth  century  encircled  the  north  of 
Europe ; for  besides  Sleswig,  Denmark,  and  Scandinavia, 
they  held  the  coast  of  Holland,  also  Normandy,  where  Rollo 
came  in  912.  Of  insular  domain,  they  held  Iceland,  parts 
of  Scotland,  and  the  islands  north  and  west  of  it,  some  bits 
of  Ireland,  and  much  of  England.  Moreover,  Scandinavians 
filled  the  Varangian  corps  of  the  Byzantine  emperors,  and 
old  Runic  inscriptions  are  found  on  marbles  at  Athens. 


154 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


Their  narrow  barks  traversed  the  eastern  Mediterranean1 
long  before  Norman  Roger  and  Norman  Robert  conquered 
Sicily  and  southern  Italy.  Such  reach  of  conquest  shows 
them  to  have  been  moved  by  no  passion  for  adventure-. 
Their  fierce  valour  was  part  of  their  great  capacity  for  the 
strategy  of  war.  As  pirates,  as  invaders,  as  settlers,  they 
dared  and  fought  and  fended  for  a purpose — to  get  what 
they  wanted,  and  to  hold  it  fast.  When  they  had  mastered 
the  foe  and  conquered  his  land,  they  settled  down,  in  England 
and  Normandy  and  Sicily. 

Such  genius  for  fighting  was  in  accord  with  shrewdness 
and  industry  in  peace.  The  Vikings  laboured,  whether  in 
Norway  or  in  Iceland.  In  the  Edda  the  freeman  learns  to 
break  oxen,  till  the  ground,  timber  houses,  build  barns, 
make  carts  and  ploughs.2  So  a tenth-century  Viking  king 
may  be  found  in  the  field  directing  the  cutting  and  stacking 
of  his  corn  and  the  gathering  of  it  into  barns.  They  were 
also  traders  and  even  money-lenders.  The  Icelanders, 
whom  we  know  so  intimately  from  the  Sagas,  went  regularly 
upon  voyages  of  trade  or  piracy  before  settling  down  to  farm 
and  wife.  Sharp  of  speech,  efficient  in  affairs,  and  often 
adepts  in  the  law,  they  eagerly  took  part  in  the  meetings  of 
the  Althing  and  its  settlement  of  suits.  If  such  settlement 
was  rejected,  private  war  or  the  holmgang  (an  appointed 
single  combat  on  a small  island)  was  the  regular  recourse. 
But  it  was  murder  to  kill  in  the  night  or  without  previous 
notice.  Nothing  should  be  said  behind  an  enemy’s  back 
that  the  speaker  would  not  make  good;  and  every  man 
must  keep  his  plighted  word. 

Much  of  the  Norse  wisdom  consists  in  a shrewd  wariness. 
Contempt  for  the  chattering  fool  runs  through  the  Edda} 

1 It  is  said  that  some  twenty-five  thousand  Arabian  coins,  mostly  of  the  Viking 
periods,  have  been  found  in  Sweden. 

2 See  Vigfusson  and  Powell,  Corpus  poeticum  Boreale,  i.  238. 

3 There  is  much  controversy  as  to  the  date  (the  Viking  Age?)  and  place  of  origin 
(Norway,  the  Western  Isles,  or  Iceland?)  of  the  older  Eddie  poems;  also  as  to 
the  presence  of  Christian  elements.  The  last  are  denied  by  Miillenhoff  ( Deutsche 
Alter  tumskunde,  Bd.  v.,  1891)  and  others;  while  Bugge  finds  them  throughout 
the  whole  Viking  mythology  ( Home  of  the  Eddie  Poems.  London,  D.  Nutt,  1899), 
and  Chr.  Bang  has  endeavoured  to  prove  that  the  Voluspa,  the  chief  Eddie 
mythological  poem,  was  an  imitation  of  the  Christian  Sibyl’s  oracles  ( Christiania 
Videnskabsselskabs  Forhanlinger,  1879,  No.  9;  Miillenhoff,  o.c.  Bd.  v.  p.  3 sqq.). 
Similar  views  are  held  in  Vigfusson  and  Powell’s  Corpus  poeticum  Boreale  (i. 


CHAP.  VIII 


TEUTON  QUALITIES 


i55 


Let  a man  be  chary  of  speech  and  in  action  unflinching. 
Eddie  poetry  is  full  of  action ; even  its  didactic  pieces  are 
dramatic.  The  Edda  is  as  hard  as  steel.  In  the  mytho- 
logical pieces  the  action  has  the  ruthlessness  of  the  elements, 
while  the  stories  of  conduct  show  elemental  passions  working 
in  elemental  strength.  The  men  and  women  are  not  rounded 
and  complete ; but  certain  disengaged  motives  are  raised  to 
the  titanic  and  thrown  out  with  power.  Neither  present 
anguish,  nor  death  surely  foreseen,  checks  the  course  of 
vengeance  for  broken  faith  in  those  famous  Eddie  lays  of 
Atli,  of  Sigurd  and  Sigrifa,  Helgi  and  Sigrun,  Brynhild  and 
Gudrun,  out  of  which  the  Volsunga  Saga  was  subsequently 
put  together,  and  to  which  the  Nibelungenlied  is  kin.  They 
seem  to  carry  the  same  story,  with  change  of  names  and 
incidents.  Always  the  hero’s  fate  is  netted  by  woman’s 
vengeance  and  the  curse  of  the  Hoard.  But  still  the  women 
feel  more;  the  men  strike,  or  are  struck.  Hard  and  cold 
grey,  with  hidden  fire,  was  the  temper  of  these  people. 
Their  love  was  not  over-tender,  and  yet  stronger  than  death : 
cries  Brynhild’s  ghost  riding  hellward,  “Men  and  women 
will  always  be  born  to  live  in  woe.  We  two,  Sigurd  and  I, 
shall  never  part  again.”  And  the  power  of  such  love  speaks 
in  the  deed  and  word  of  Sigrun,  who  answers  the  ghostly 
call  of  slain  Helgi  from  his  barrow,  and  enters  it  to  cast  her 
arms  about  him  there:  “I  am  as  glad  to  meet  thee  as  are 
the  greedy  hawks  of  Odin  when  they  scent  the  slain.  I will 
kiss  thee,  my  dead  king,  ere  thou  cast  off  thy  bloody  coat. 
Thy  hair,  my  Helgi,  is  thick  with  rime,  thy  body  is  drenched 
with  gory  dew,  dead-cold  are  thy  hands.” 

The  characters  which  appear  in  large  grey  traits  in  the 
Edda , come  nearer  to  us  in  the  Icelandic  Sagas.  The  Edda 
has  something  of  a far,  unearthly  gloom ; the  Saga  the  light 
of  day.  Saga-folk  are  extraordinarily  individual ; men  and 
women  are  portrayed,  body  and  soul,  with  homely,  telling 

ci.-cvii.  and  427).  These  scholars  find  Celtic  influences  in  the  Eddie  poems. 
The  whole  controversy  is  still  far  from  settlement. 

As  for  English  translations  of  the  Edda,  that  by  B.  Thorpe  ( Edda  Saemundar) 
is  difficult  to  obtain.  Those  of  the  Corpus  poeticum  Boreale  are  literal;  but  the 
phraseology  of  the  renderings  of  the  mythological  poems  is  shaped  to  the  theory 
of  Christian  influence.  A recent  translation  (1909)  is  that  of  Olive  Bray  (Viking  Club), 
The  Elder  or  Poetic  Edda,  Part  I.  The  Mythological  Poems. 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


156 

realism.  Nevertheless,  within  a fuller  round  of  human  trait, 
Eddie  qualities  endure.  There  is  the  same  clear  purpose 
and  the  strong  resolve,  and  still  the  deed  keeps  pace  with 
the  intent.1 

The  period  which  the  Sagas  would  delineate  commences 
when  the  Norse  chiefs  sail  to  Iceland  with  kith  and  kin  and 
following  to  be  rid  of  Harold  Fairhair,  and  lasts  for  a century 
or  more  on  through  the  time  of  King  Olaf  Tryggvason  who, 
shield  over  head,  sprang  into  the  sea  in  the  year  1000,  and 
the  life  of  that  other  Olaf,  none  too  rightly  called  the  Saint, 
who  in  1030  perished  in  battle  fighting  against  overwhelming 
odds.  Following  hard  upon  this  heroic  time  comes  the  age 
of  telling  of  it,  telling  of  it  at  the  midsummer  Althing,  telling 
of  it  at  Yule  tide  feasts,  and  otherwise  through  the  long 
winter  nights  in  Iceland.  These  tellings  are  the  Sagas  in 
process  of  creation ; for  a Saga  is  essentially  a tale  told  by 
word  of  mouth  to  listeners.  Thus  pass  another  hundred 
years  of  careful  telling,  memorizing,  and  retelling  of  these 
tales,  kept  close  to  the  old  incidents  and  deeds,  yet  ever 
with  a higher  truth  intruding.  They  are  becoming  true 

1 The  best  account  of  the  Sagas,  in  English,  is  the  Prolegomena  to  Vigfusson’s 
edition  of  the  Sturlunga  Saga  (Clarendon  Press,  1878).  Dasent’s  Introduction 
to  his  translation  of  the  Njals  Saga  (Edinburgh,  1861)  is  instructive  as  to  the 
conditions  of  life  in  Iceland  in  the  early  times.  W.  P.  Ker’s  Epic  and  Romance 
(Macmillan  & Co.,  1897)  has  elaborate  literary  criticism  upon  the  Sagas.  The 
following  is  Vigfusson’s:  “The  Saga  proper  is  a kind  of  prose  Epic.  It  has  its 
fixed  laws,  its  set  phrases,  its  regular  epithets  and  terms  of  expression,  and  though 
there  is,  as  in  all  high  literary  form,  an  endless  diversity  of  interest  and  style,  yet 
there  are  also  bounds  which  are  never  over-stepped,  confining  the  Saga  as  closely  as 
the  employment  and  restriction  of  verse  could  do.  It  will  be  best  to  take  as  the 
type  the  smaller  Icelandic  Saga,  from  which  indeed  all  the  later  forms  of  composi- 
tion have  sprung.  This  is,  in  its  original  form,  the  story  of  the  life  of  an  Icelandic 
gentleman,  living  some  time  in  the  tenth  or  eleventh  centuries.  It  will  tell  first 
of  his  kin,  going  back  to  the  settler  from  whom  he  sprung,  then  of  his  youth  and 
early  promise  before  he  left  his  father’s  house  to  set  forth  on  that  foreign  career 
which  was  the  fitting  education  of  the  young  Northern  chief.  These  wander- 
jahre,  passed  in  trading  voyages  and  pirate  cruises,  or  in  the  service  of  one  of 
the  Scandinavian  kings,  as  poet  or  henchman,  the  hero  returns  to  Iceland  a proved 
man,  and  the  main  part  of  the  story  thus  preluded  begins.  It  recounts  in  fuller 
detail  and  in  order  of  time  his  friendships  and  his  enmities,  his  exploits  and  re- 
nown, and  finally  his  death;  usually  concluding  with  the  revenge  taken  for  him 
by  his  kinsmen,  which  fitly  winds  up  the  whole.  This  tale  is  told  in  an  earnest, 
straightforward  way,  as  by  a man  talking,  in  short  simple  sentences,  changing 
when  the  interest  grows  into  the  historic  present,  with  here  and  there  an  ‘aside’ 
of  explanation  put  in.  . . . The  whole  composition,  grouped  around  a single 

man  and  a single  place,  is  so  well  balanced  and  so  naturally  unfolded  piece  by  piece 
that  the  great  art  shown  therein  often  at  first  escapes  the  reader.” 


CHAP.  VIII 


TEUTON  QUALITIES 


i57 


to  reality  itself,  in  concrete  types,  and  not  simply  narratives 
of  facts  actually  occurring — if  indeed  facts  ever  occur  in 
any  such  unequivocal  singleness  of  actuality  and  with  such 
compelling  singleness  of  meaning,  that  one  man  shall  not 
read  them  in  one  way  and  another  otherwise.  And  the 

more  imaginative  reading  may  be  the  truer. 

This  century  of  Saga-growth  in  memory  and  word  of 
mouth  came  to  an  end,  and  men  began  to  write  them  down. 
For  still  another  hundred  years  (beginning  about  1140)  this 
process  lasted.  In  its  nature  it  was  something  of  a re- 
modelling. As  oral  tales  to  be  listened  to,  the  Sagas  had 
come  to  these  scribe-authors,  and  as  such  the  latter  wrote 
them  down,  yet  with  such  modification  as  would  be  involved 
in  writing  out  for  mind  and  eye  and  ear  that  which  the  ear 
had  heard  and  the  memory  retained.  In  some  instances 
the  scribe-author  set  himself  the  more  ambitious  task  of 
casting  certain  tales  together  in  a single,  yet  composite  story. 
Such  is  the  Njala,  greatest  of  all  Sagas ; it  may  have  been 
written  about  the  year  1220.1 

As  representative  of  the  Norse  personality,  the  Sagas, 

1 The  Story  of  Burnt  Njal  (Njala  Saga  or  Njala),  trans.  by  Dasent  (2  vols. 
Edinburgh,  1861).  A prose  narrative  interspersed  with  occasional  lyric  verses 
is  the  form  which  the  Icelandic  Sagas  have  in  common  with  the  Irish.  In  view 
of  the  mutual  intercourse  and  undoubted  mingling  of  Norse  and  Celtic  blood  both 
in  Ireland  and  Iceland,  it  is  probable  that  the  Norse  Saga-form  was  taken  from 
the  Irish.  But,  except  in  the  Laxdaela  Saga  (trans.  by  Mrs.  Press  in  the  Temple 
Classics,  Dent,  1899),  one  seems  to  find  no  Celtic  strain.  The  Sagas  are  the 
prose  complement  of  the  poetic  Edda.  Both  are  Norse  absolutely : fruit  of  one  spirit 
part  of  one  literature,  a possession  of  one  people.  As  to  racial  purity  of  blood  in  their 
authors  and  fashioners,  or  in  the  men  of  whom  the  tales  are  told,  that  is  another  mat- 
ter. Who  shall  say  that  Celtic  blood  and  inherited  Celtic  gifts  of  expression  were 
not  the  leaven  of  this  Norse  literature?  But  whatever  entered  into  it  and  helped 
to  create  it,  became  Norse  just  as  vitally  as,  ages  before,  every  foreign  suggestion 
adopted  by  a certain  gifted  Mediterranean  race  was  Hellenized,  and  became  Greek. 
In  Iceland,  in  the  Orkneys  and  the  Faroes,  Viking  conditions,  the  Viking  spirit,  and 
Norse  blood,  dominated,  assimilating,  transforming  and  doubtless  using  whatever 
talents  and  capacities  came  within  the  vortex  of  Viking  life. 

It  may  be  added  that  there  is  merely  an  accidental  likeness  between  the  Saga 
and  the  Cantafable.  In  the  Saga  the  verses  are  the  utterances  of  the  heroes  when 
specially  moved.  One  may  make  a verse  as  a short  death-song  when  his  death  is 
imminent,  or  as  a gibe  on  an  enemy,  when  he  is  about  to  attack.  In  the  Cantafable 
— Aucassin  and  Nicolette,  for  example — the  verses  are  a lyric  summary  of  the  parts 
of  the  narrative  following  them,  and  are  not  spoken  by  the  dramatis  personae.  The 
Cantafable  (but  not  the  Sagas)  perhaps  may  be  traced  back  to  such  a work  as  Boethius’s 
De  consolatione,  which  at  least  is  identical  in  form,  or  Capella’s  De  nuptiis  Philologiae 
et  Mercurii.  The  De  planctu  naturae  of  Alanus  de  Insulis  {post,  Chapter  XXXIII.  1) 
plainly  shows  such  antecedents. 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


158 

like  all  national  literature,  bear  a twofold  testimony : that 
of  their  own  literary  qualities,  and  that  of  the  characters 
which  they  portray.  In  the  first  place,  a Saga  is  absolute 
narrative:  it  relates  deeds,  incidents,  and  sayings,  in  the 
manner  and  order  in  which  they  would  strike  the . eye  and 
ear  of  the  listener,  did  the  matter  pass  before  him.  The 
narrator  offers  no  analysis  of  motives ; he  inserts  no  reflec- 
tions upon  characters  and  situations.  He  does  not  even 
relate  the  incidents  from  the  vantage-ground  of  a full 
knowledge  of  them,  but  from  the  point  of  view  of  each 
instant’s  impression  upon  the  participants  or  onlookers. 
The  result  is  an  objective  and  vivid  presentation  of  the 
story.  Next,  the  Sagas  are  economical  of  incident  as  well 
as  language.  That  incident  is  told  which  the  story  needs 
for  the  presentation  of  the  hero’s  career ; those  circum- 
stances are  given  which  the  incident  needs  in  order  that  its 
significance  may  be  perceived ; such  sayings  of  the  actors 
are  related  as  reveal  most  in  fewest  words.  There  is  nothing 
more  extraordinary  in  these  stories  than  the  significance  of 
the  small  incident,  and  the  extent  of  revelation  carried  by  a 
terse  remark. 

For  example,  in  the  Gisli  Saga,  Gisli  has  gone  out  in  the 
winter  night  to  the  house  of  his  brother  Thorkel,  with  whom 
he  is  on  good  terms,  and  there  has  slain  Thorkel’s  wife’s 
brother  in  his  bed.  In  the  darkness  and  confusion  he 
escapes  unrecognized,  gets  back  to  his  own  house  and  into 
bed,  where  he  lies  as  if  asleep.  At  daybreak  the  dead  man’s 
friends  come  packing  to  Gisli’s  farm  : 

“Now  they  come  to  the  farm,  Thorkel  and  Eyjolf,  and  go  up 
to  the  shut-bed  where  Gisli  and  his  wife  slept ; but  Thorkel,  Gisli’s 
brother,  stepped  up  first  on  to  the  floor,  and  stands  at  the  side  of 
the  bed,  and  sees  Gisli’s  shoes  lying  all  frozen  and  snowy.  He 
kicked  them  under  the  foot-board,  so  that  no  other  man  should 
see  them.”  1 

This  little  incident  of  the  shoes  not  only  shows  how  near 
was  Gisli  to  detection  and  death,  but  also  discloses  the  way 
in  which  Thorkel  meant  to  act  and  did  act  toward  his 
brother : to  wit,  shield  him  so  long  as  it  might  be  done 
without  exposing  himself. 

1 Story  of  Gisli  the  outlaw,  trans.  by  Dasent,  chap.  ix.  (Edinburgh,  1866). 


CHAP.  VIII 


TEUTON  QUALITIES 


i59 


Another  illustration.  The  Njals  Saga  opens  with  a 
sketch  of  the  girl  Hallgerda,  so  drawn  that  it  presages  most 
of  the  trouble  in  the  story.  There  were  two  well-to-do 
brothers,  Hauskuld  and  Hrut : 

“It  happened  once  that  Hauskuld  bade  his  friends  to  a feast, 
and  his  brother  Hrut  was  there,  and  sat  next  to  him.  Hauskuld 
had  a daughter  named  Hallgerda,  who  was  playing  on  the  floor 
with  some  other  girls.  She  was  fair  of  face  and  tall  of  growth,  and 
her  hair  was  as  soft  as  silk ; it  was  so  long,  too,  that  it  came  down 
to  her  waist.  Hauskuld  called  out  to  her,  ‘Come  hither  to  me, 
daughter.’  So  she  went  up  to  him,  and  he  took  her  by  the  chin 
and  kissed  her ; after  that  she  went  away.  Then  Hauskuld  said 
to  Hrut,  ‘What  dost  thou  think  of  this  maiden?  Is  she  not 
fair?’  Hrut  held  his  peace.  Hauskuld  said  the  same  thing  to 
him  a second  time,  and  then  Hrut  answered,  ‘Fair  enough  is  this 
maid,  and  many  will  smart  for  it;  but  this  I know  not,  whence 
thief’s  eyes  have  come  into  our  race.’  Then  Hauskuld  was  wroth, 
and  for  a time  the  brothers  saw  little  of  each  other.”  1 

The  picture  of  Hallgerda  will  never  leave  the  reader’s 
mind  throughout  the  story,  of  which  she  is  the  evil  genius. 
It  is  after  she  has  caused  the  death  of  her  first  husband  and 
is  sought  by  a second,  that  she  is  sent  for  by  her  father  to 
ask  what  her  mind  may  be : 

“Then  they  sent  for  Hallgerda,  and  she  came  thither,  and  two 
women  with  her.  She  had  on  a cloak  of  rich  blue  woof,  and  under 
it  a scarlet  kirtle,  and  a silver  girdle  round  her  waist ; but  her  hair 
came  down  on  both  sides  of  her  bosom,  and  she  had  turned  the 
locks  up  under  her  girdle.  She  sat  down  between  Hrut  and  her 
father,  and  she  greeted  them  all  with  kind  words,  and  spoke  well 
and  boldly,  and  asked  what  was  the  news.  After  that  she  ceased 
speaking.” 

This  is  the  woman  that  the  girl  has  grown  to  be;  and  she 
is  still  at  the  beginning  of  her  mischief.  Such  narrative 
art  discloses  both  in  the  tale-teller  and  the  audience  an 
intelligence  which  sees  the  essential  fact  and  is  impatient 
of  encumbrance.  It  is  the  same  intelligence  that  made 
these  Vikings  so  efficient  in  war,  and  in  peace  quick  to  seize 
cogent  means. 

Truthfulness  is  another  quality  of  the  Sagas.  Indeed 

1 The  Story  of  Burnt  Njal,  chap,  i.,  trans.  by  Dasent. 


i6o 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


their  respect  for  historical  or  biographical  fact  sometimes 
hindered  the  evolution  of  a perfect  story.  They  hesitated 
to  omit  or  alter  well-remembered  incidents.  Nevertheless 
a certain  remodelling  came,  as  generation  after  generation 
of  narrators  made  the  incidents  more  striking  and  the 
characters  more  marked,  and,  under  the  exigencies  of  story- 
telling, omitted  details  which,  although  actual,  were 
irrelevant  to  the  current  of  the  story.  The  disadvantages 
from  truthfulness  were  slight,  compared  with  the  admirable 
artistic  qualities  preserved  by  it.  It  kept  the  stories  true  to 
reality,  excluding  unreality,  exaggeration,  absurdity.  Hence 
these  Sagas  are  convincing : no  reader  can  withhold  belief. 
They  contain  no  incredible  incidents.  On  occasions  they  tell 
of  portents,  prescience,  and  second  sight,  but  not  so  as  to 
raise  a smile.  They  relate  a very  few  encounters  with  trolls 
— the  hideous,  unlaid,  still  embodied  dead.  But  those 
accounts  conform  to  the  hard-wrung  superstitions  of  a people 
not  given  to  credulity.  So  they  are  real.  The  reality  of 
Grettir’s  night-wrestling  with  Glam,  the  troll,  is  hardly  to 
be  matched.1  Truthfulness  likewise  characterizes  their 
heroes : no  man  lies  about  his  deeds,  and  no  man’s  word  is 
doubted. 

While  the  Saga-folk  include  no  cowards  or  men  of  petty 
manners,  there  is  still  great  diversity  of  character  among 
them.  Some  are  lazy  and  some  industrious,  some  quarrel- 
some and  some  good-natured,  some  dangerous,  some  forbear- 
ing, gloomy  or  cheerful,  open-minded  or  biassed,  shrewd  or 
stupid,  generous  or  avaricious.  Such  contrasts  of  character 
abound  both  in  the  Sagas  of  Icelandic  life  and  those  which 
handle  the  broader  matter  of  history.  One  may  note  in  the 
Heimskringla 2 of  the  Kings  of  Norway  the  contrasted  char- 
acters of  the  kings  Olaf  Tryggvason  and  St.  Olaf.  The 
latter  appears  as  a hard-working,  canny  ruler,  a lover  of 

1 The  Story  of  Grettir  the  Strong  (Grettis  Saga),  chaps.  32-35,  trans.  by  Mag- 
nusson  and  Morris  (London,  1869).  See  also  ibid,  chaps.  65,  66.  These  accounts 
are  analogous  to  the  story  of  Beowulf’s  fights  with  Grendal  and  his  dam ; but  are  more 
convincing. 

2 The  stories  of  the  Kings  of  Norway,  called  the  Round  World  (Heimskringla), 
by  Snorri  Sturluson,  done  into  English  by  Magnusson  and  Morris  (London,  1893). 
Snorri  Sturluson  (b.  1178,  d.  1241)  composed  or  put  together  the  Heimskringla  from 
earlier  writings,  chiefly  those  of  Ari  the  Historian  (b.  1067,  d.  1148),  “a  man  of  truth- 
fulness, wisdom,  and  good  memory,”  who  wrote  largely  from  oral  accounts. 


CHAP.  VIII 


TEUTON  QUALITIES 


161 


order,  a legislator  and  enforcer  of  the  laws ; in  person,  short, 
thick-set,  carrying  his  head  a little  bent.  A Viking  had  he 
been,  and  was  a lighter,  till  he  fell  in  his  last  great  battle 
undaunted  by  odds. 

But  the  other  Olaf,  Norway’s  darling  hero,  is  epic : tall, 
golden-haired,  peerless  from  his  boyhood,  beloved  and  hated. 
His  marvellous  physical  masteries  are  told,  his  cliff-climbing, 
his  walking  on  the  sweeping  oars  keeping  three  war-axes 
tossing  in  the  air.  He  smote  well  with  either  hand  and 
cast  two  spears  at  once.  He  was  the  gladdest  and  game- 
somest  of  men,  kind  and  lowly-hearted,  eager  in  all  matters, 
bountiful  of  gifts,  glorious  of  attire,  before  all  men  for  high 
heart  in  battle,  and  grimmest  of  all  men  in  his  wrath ; 
marvellous  great  pains  he  laid  upon  his  foes.  “No  man 
durst  gainsay  him,  and  all  the  land  was  christened  whereso- 
ever he  came.”  Five  short  years  made  up  his  reign.  At 
the  end,  neither  he  was  broken  nor  his  power.  But  a plot, 
moved  by  the  hatred  of  a spurned  heathen  queen,  delivered 
him  to  unequal  combat  with  his  enemies,  the  Kings  of 
Denmark  and  Sweden,  and  Eric  the  great  Viking  Earl. 

Olaf  is  sailing  home  from  Wendland.  The  hostile  fleet 
crouches  behind  an  island.  Sundry  of  Olaf’s  ships  pass  by. 
Then  the  kings  spy  a great  ship  sailing — that  will  be  Olaf’s 
Long  Worm  they  say;  Eric  says  no.  Anon  come  four 
ships,  and  a great  dragon  amid  them — the  Long  Worm? 
not  yet.  At  last  she  comes,  greatest  and  bravest  of  all,  and 
Olaf  in  her,  standing  on  the  poop,  with  gilded  shield  and 
golden  helm  and  a red  kirtle  over  his  mail  coat.  His  men 
bade  to  sail  on,  and  not  fight  so  great  a host ; but  Olaf  said, 
“ Never  have  I fled  from  battle.”  So  Olaf’s  ships  are  lashed 
in  line,  at  the  centre  the  Long  Worm , its  prow  forward  of  the 
others  because  of  her  greater  length.  Olaf  would  have  it 
thus  in  spite  of  the  “ windy  weather  in  the  bows”  predicted 
by  her  captain.  The  enemies’  ships  close  around  them. 
Olaf’s  grapplings  are  too  much  for  the  Danes;  they  draw 
back.  Their  places  are  taken  by  the  ships  of  Sweden. 
They  fare  no  better.  At  last  Earl  Eric  lays  fast  his  iron- 
beaks  to  Olaf’s  ships;  Danes  and  Swedes  take  courage  and 
return.  It  is  hand  to  hand  now,  the  ships  laid  aboard  of 
each  other. 


VOL.  i 


M 


162 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


At  last  all  of  Olaf’s  ships  are  cleared  of  men  and  cut 
adrift,  save  the  Long  Worm.  There  fight  Olaf’s  chosen, 
mad  with  battle.  Einar,  Olaf’s  strong  bowman,  from  the 
Worm  aft  in  the  main  hold,  shot  at  Earl  Eric;  one  arrow 
pierced  the  tiller  by  his  head,  the  second  flew  beneath  his 
arm.  Says  the  Earl  to  Finn,  his  bowman,  “ Shoot  me 
yonder  big  man.”  Finn  shot,  and  the  arrow  struck  full 
upon  Einar’s  bow  as  he  w^as  drawing  it  the  third  time,  and  it 
broke  in  the  middle. 

“What  broke  there  so  loud?”  said  Olaf. 

“Norway,  king,  from  thine  hands,”  answered  Einar. 

“No  such  crash  as  that,”  said  the  king;  “take  my  bow 
and  shoot.” 

But  the  foeman’s  strength  was  overpowering.  Olaf’s 
men  were  cut  down  amidships.  They  hardly  held  the  poop 
and  bow.  Earl  Eric  leads  the  boarders.  The  ship  is  full 
of  foes.  Olaf  will  not  be  taken.  He  leaps  overboard. 
About  the  ship  swarm  boats  to  seize  him ; but  he  threw  his 
shield  over  his  head  and  sank  quickly  in  the  sea. 

The  private  Sagas  construct  in  powerful  lines  the  char- 
acters of  the  heroes  from  the  stories  of  their  fives.  A great 
example  is  the  Saga  of  Egil,1  whose  father  was  a Norse 
chief  who  had  sailed  to  Iceland,  where  Egil  was  born.  As 
a child  he  was  moody,  intractable,  and  dangerous,  and  once 
killed  an  older  lad  who  had  got  the  better  of  him  at  ball 
playing.  There  was  no  great  love  between  him  and  his 
father.  When  he  was  twelve  years  old  his  father  used  him 
roughly.  He  entered  the  great  hall  and  walked  up  to  his 
father’s  steward  and  slew  him.  Then  he  went  to  his  seat. 
After  that,  father  and  son  said  little  to  each  other.  The 
boy  was  bent  on  going  cruising  with  his  older  brother, 
Thorolf.  The  father  yields,  and  Egil  goes  a-harrying. 
Fierce  is  his  course  in  Norway,  where  they  come.  On  the 
sea  his  vessel  bears  him  from  deed  to  deed  of  blood  and 
daring.  His  strength  won  him  booty  and  reward;  he  won 
a friend  too,  Arinbjorn,  and  there  was  always  troth  between 
them. 

Thorolf  and  Egil  took  service  with  King  Athelstane, 
who  was  threatened  with  attack  from  the  King  of  the  Scots. 

1 The  Story  of  Egil  Skallagrimson,  trans.  by  W.  C.  Green  (London,  1893). 


CHAP.  VIII 


TEUTON  QUALITIES 


163 


The  brothers  led  the  Vikings  in  Athelstane’s  force.  In  the 
battle  Thorolf  loses  his  life;  but  Egil  hears  the  shout  when 
Thorolf  falls.  His  furious  valour  wins  the  day  for  Athel- 
stane.  After  the  fight  he  buries  his  brother  and  sings  staves 
over  his  grave. 

“Then  went  Egil  and  those  about  him  to  seek  King  Athelstan, 
and  at  once  went  before  the  king,  where  he  sat  at  the  drinking. 
There  was  much  noise  of  merriment.  And  when  the  king  saw 
that  Egil  was  come  in,  he  bade  the  lower  bench  be  cleared  for 
them,  and  that  Egil  should  sit  in  the  high  seat  facing  the  king. 
Egil  sat  down  there,  and  cast  his  shield  before  his  feet.  He  had 
his  helm  on  his  head,  and  laid  his  sword  across  his  knees;  and 
now  and  again  he  half  drew  it,  and  then  clashed  it  back  into  the 
sheath.  He  sat  upright,  but  with  head  bent  forward.  Egil  was 
large-featured,  broad  of  forehead,  with  large  eye-brows,  a nose  not 
long  but  very  thick,  lips  wide  and  long,  chin  exceeding  broad,  as 
was  all  about  the  jaws ; thick-necked  was  he,  and  big-shouldered 
beyond  other  men,  hard-featured,  and  grim  when  angry.  He 
would  not  drink  now,  though  the  horn  was  borne  to  him,  but 
alternately  twitched  his  brows  up  and  down.  King  Athelstan 
sat  in  the  upper  high-seat.  He  too  laid  his  sword  across  his  knees. 
When  they  had  sat  there  for  a time,  then  the  king  drew  his  sword 
from  the  sheath,  and  took  from  his  arm  a gold  ring  large  and  good, 
and  placing  it  upon  the  sword-point  he  stood  up,  and  went  across 
the  floor,  and  reached  it  over  the  fire  to  Egil.  Egil  stood  up  and 
drew  his  sword,  and  went  across  the  floor.  He  stuck  the  sword- 
point  within  the  round  of  the  ring,  and  drew  it  to  him ; then  he 
went  back  to  his  place.  The  king  sate  him  again  in  his  high-seat. 
But  when  Egil  was  set  down,  he  drew  the  ring  on  his  arm,  and 
then  his  brows  went  back  to  their  place.  He  now  laid  down 
sword  and  helm,  took  the  horn  that  they  bare  to  him,  and  drank 
it  off.  Then  sang  he : 

‘Mailed  monarch,  god  of  battle, 

Maketh  the  tinkling  circlet 
Hang,  his  own  arm  forsaking, 

On  hawk-trod  wrist  of  mine. 

I bear  on  arm  brand-wielding 
Bracelet  of  red  gold  gladly. 

War-falcon’s  feeder  meetly 

Findeth  such  meed  of  praise.’ 

“Thereafter  Egil  drank  his  share,  and  talked  with  others. 
Presently  the  king  caused  to  be  borne  in  two  chests;  two  men 


164 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


bare  each.  Both  were  full  of  silver.  The  king  said:  ‘These 

chests,  Egil,  thou  shalt  have,  and,  if  thou  comest  to  Iceland,  shalt 
carry  this  money  to  thy  father ; as  payment  for  a son  I send  it  to 
him : but  some  of  the  money  thou  shalt  divide  among  such  kins- 
men of  thyself  and  Thorolf  as  thou  thinkest  most  honourable. 
But  thou  shalt  take  here  payment  for  a brother  with  me,  land  or 
chattels,  which  thou  wilt.  And  if  thou  wilt  abide  with  me  long, 
then  will  I give  thee  honour  and  dignity  such  as  thyself  mayst 
name/ 

“Egil  took  the  money,  and  thanked  the  king  for  his  gifts  and 
friendly  words.  Thenceforward  Egil  began  to  be  cheerful;  and 
then  he  sang : 

‘In  sorrow  sadly  drooping 
Sank  my  brows  close-knitted ; 

Then  found  I one  who  furrows 
Of  forehead  could  smooth. 

Fierce-frowning  cliffs  that  shaded 
My  face  a king  hath  lifted 
With  gleam  of  golden  armlet : 

Gloom  leaveth  my  eyes.  ’ ” 

Like  many  of  his  kind  in  Iceland  and  Norway,  this  fierce 
man  was  a poet.  Once  he  saved  his  life  by  a poem,  and 
he  had  made  poems  as  gifts.  It  was  when  the  old  Viking’s 
life  was  drawing  to  its  close  at  his  home  in  Iceland  that 
he  composed  his  most  moving  lay.  His  beautiful  beloved 
son  was  drowned.  After  the  burial  Egil  rode  home,  went 
to  his  bed-closet,  lay  down  and  shut  himself  in,  none  daring 
to  speak  to  him.  There  he  lay,  silent,  for  a day  and  night. 
At  last  his  daughter  knocks  and  speaks ; he  opens.  She 
enters  and  beguiles  him  with  her  devotion.  After  a while 
the  old  man  takes  food.  And  at  last  she  prevails  on  him 
to  make  a poem  on  his  son’s  death,  and  assuage  his  grief. 
So  the  song  begins,  and  at  length  rises  clear  and  strong — 
perhaps  the  most  heart-breaking  of  all  old  Norse  poems.1 

In  the  portrayal  of  contrasted  characters  no  other  Saga 
can  equal  the  great  Njala,  a Saga  large  and  complex,  and 
doubtless  composite;  for  it  seems  put  together  out  of  three 
stories,  in  all  of  which  figured  the  just  Njal,  although  he  is 

1 These  poems  are  in  the  Saga,  and  will  be  found  translated  in  Mr.  Green’s  edition. 
They  are  also  edited  with  prose  translations  in  C.P.B.,  vol.  i.  pp.  266-280.  With 
Egil  one  may  compare  the  still  more  truculent,  but  very  different  Grettir,  hero  of  the 
Grettis  Saga.  The  Story  of  Grettir  the  Strong,  trans.  by  Magnusson  and  Morris  (2nd 
ed.,  London,  1869). 


CHAP.  VIII 


TEUTON  QUALITIES 


165 


the  chief  personage  in  only  one  of  them.  The  story,  with 
its  multitude  of  personages  and  threefold  subject-matter, 
lacks  unity  perhaps.  Yet  the  different  parts  of  the  Saga 
successively  hold  the  attention.  In  the  first  part,  the  in- 
comparable Gunnar  is  the  hero ; in  the  second,  Njal  and  his 
sons  engage  our  interest  in  their  varied  characters  and 
common  fate.  These  are  great  narratives.  The  third  part 
is  perhaps  epigonic,  excellent  and  yet  an  aftermath.  Only 
a reading  of  this  Saga  can  bring  any  realization  of  its  power 
of  narrative  and  character  delineation.  Its  chief  personages 
are  as  clear  as  the  day.  One  can  almost  see  the  sunlight  of 
Gunnar’s  open  brow,  and  certainly  can  feel  his  manly  heart. 
The  foil  against  which  he  is  set  off  is  his  friend  Njal,  equally 
good,  utterly  different : unwarlike,  wise  in  counsel,  a great 
lawyer,  truthful,  just,  shrewd  and  foreseeing.  Hallgerda  of 
the  long  silken  hair  is  Gunnar’s  wife;  she  has  caused  the 
deaths  of  two  husbands  already,  and  will  yet  prove  Gunnar’s 
bane.  Little  time  passes  before  she  is  the  enemy  of  Njal’s 
high-minded  spouse,  Bergthora.  Then  Hallgerda  beginning, 
Bergthora  following  quick,  the  two  push  on  their  quarrel, 
instigating  in  counter- vengeance  alternate  manslayings, 
each  one  a little  nearer  to  the  heart  and  honour  of  Gunnar 
and  Njal.  Yet  their  friendship  is  unshaken.  For  every 
killing  the  one  atones  with  the  other;  and  the  same  blood- 
money  passes  to  and  fro  between  them. 

Gunnar’s  friendship  with  the  pacific  .Njal  and  his  warlike 
sons  endured  till  Gunnar’s  death.  That  came  from  enmities 
first  stirred  by  the  thieving  of  Hallgerda’s  thieving  thrall. 
She  had  ordered  it,  and  in  shame  Gunnar  gave  her  a slap  in 
the  face,  the  sole  act  of  irritation  recorded  of  this  generous, 
forbearing,  peerless  Viking,  who  once  remarked:  “I  would 
like  to  know  whether  I am  by  so  much  the  less  brisk  and 
bold  than  other  men,  because  I think  more  of  killing  men 
than  they?”  At  a meeting  of  the  Althing  he  was  badgered 
by  his  ill-wishers  into  entering  his  stallion  for  a horse-fight, 
a kind  of  contest  usually  ending  in  a man-fight.  Skarphe- 
dinn,  the  most  masterful  of  Njal’s  sons,  offered  to  handle 
Gunnar’s  horse  for  him  : 

“ Wilt  thou  that  I drive  thy  horse,  kinsman  Gunnar  ?” 

“I  will  not  have  that,”  says  Gunnar. 


i66 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


“It  wouldn’t  be  amiss,  though,”  says  Skarphedinn;  “we 
are  hot-headed  on  both  sides.” 

“Ye  would  say  or  do  little,”  says  Gunnar,  “ before  a 
quarrel  would  spring  up;  but  with  me  it  will  take  longer, 
though  it  will  be  all  the  same  in  the  end.” 

Naturally  the  contest  ends  in  trouble.  Gunnar’s  beaten 
and  enraged  opponent  seizes  his  weapons,  but  is  stopped  by 
bystanders.  “This  crowd  wearies  me,”  said  Skarphedinn; 
“it  is  far  more  manly  that  men  should  fight  it  out  with 
weapons.”  Gunnar  remained  quiet,  the  best  swordsman 
and  bowman  of  them  all.  But  his  enemies  fatuously  pushed 
on  the  quarrel;  once  they  rode  over  him  working  in  the 
field.  So  at  last  he  fought,  and  killed  many  of  them.  Then 
came  the  suits  for  slaying,  at  the  Althing.  Njal  is  Gunnar’s 
counsellor,  and  atonements  are  made : Gunnar  is  to  go 
abroad  for  three  winters,  and  unless  he  goes,  he  may  be  slain 
by  the  kinsmen  of  those  he  has  killed.  Gunnar  said  nothing. 
Njal  adjured  him  solemnly  to  go  on  that  journey:  “Thou 
wilt  come  back  with  great  glory,  and  live  to  be  an  old  man, 
and  no  man  here  will  then  tread  on  thy  heel;  but  if  thou 
dost  not  fare  away,  and  so  breakest  thy  atonement,  then 
thou  wilt  be  slain  here  in  the  land,  and  that  is  ill  knowing 
for  those  who  are  thy  friends.” 

Gunnar  said  he  had  no  mind  to  break  the  atonement, 
and  rode  home.  A ship  is  made  ready,  and  Gunnar’s  gear 
is  brought  down.  He  rides  around  and  bids  farewell  to 
his  friends,  thanking  them  for  the  help  they  had  given  him, 
and  returns  to  his  house.  The  next  day  he  embraces  the 
members  of  his  household,  leaps  into  the  saddle,  and  rides 
away.  But  as  he  is  riding  down  to  the  sea,  his  horse  trips 
and  throws  him.  He  springs  from  the  ground,  and  says 
with  his  face  to  the  Lithe,  his  home : “Fair  is  the  Lithe ; so 
fair  that  it  has  never  seemed  to  me  so  fair;  the  cornfields 
are  white  to  harvest,  and  the  home  mead  is  mown ; and  now 
I will  ride  back  home,  and  not  fare  abroad  at  all.” 

So  he  turns  back — to  his  fate.  The  following  summer 
at  the  Althing,  his  enemies  give  notice  of  his  outlawry.  Njal 
rides  to  Gunnar’s  home,  tells  him  of  it,  and  offers  his  sons’ 
aid,  to  come  and  dwell  with  him : “they  will  lay  down  their 
lives  for  thy  life.” 


CHAP.  VHI 


TEUTON  QUALITIES 


167 


“I  will  not,”  says  Gunnar,  “that  thy  sons  should  be 
slain  for  my  sake,  and  thou  hast  a right  to  look  for  other 
things  from  me.” 

Njal  rode  to  his  home,  while  Gunnar’s  enemies  gathered 
and  moved  secretly  to  his  house.  His  hound,  struck  down 
with  an  axe,  gives  a great  howl  and  expires.  Gunnar  awoke 
in  his  hall,  and  said : “Thou  hast  been  sorely  treated,  Sam, 
my  fosterling,  and  this  warning  is  so  meant  that  our  two 
deaths  will  not  be  far  apart.”  Single-handed,  the  beset 
chieftain  maintains  himself  within,  killing  two  of  his  enemies 
and  wounding  eight.  At  last,  wounded,  and  with  his  bow- 
string cut,  he  turns  to  his  wife  Hallgerda : “Give  me  two 

locks  of  thy  hair,  and  do  thou  and  my  mother  twist  them 
into  a bowstring  for  me.” 

“Does  aught  lie  on  it  ?”  she  says. 

“My  life  lies  on  it,”  he  said ; “for  they  will  never  come 
to  close  quarters  with  me  if  I can  keep  them  off  with  my 
bow.” 

“Well,”  she  says,  “now  I will  call  to  thy  mind  that  slap 
on  the  face  which  thou  gavest  me ; and  I care  never  a whit 
whether  thou  holdest  out  a long  while  or  a short.” 

Then  Gunnar  sang  a stave,  and  said,  “Every  one  has 
something  to  boast  of,  and  I will  ask  thee  no  more  for  this.” 
He  fought  on  till  spent  with  wounds,  and  at  last  they  killed 
him. 

Here  the  Njala  may  be  left  with  its  good  men  and  true 
and  its  evil  plotters,  all  so  differently  shown.  It  has  still 
to  tell  the  story  and  fate  of  Njal’s  unbending  sons,  of  Njal 
himself  and  his  high-tempered  dame,  who  will  abide  with 
her  spouse  in  their  burning  house,  which  enemies  have 
surrounded  and  set  on  fire  to  destroy  those  sons.  Njal 
himself  was  offered  safety  if  he  would  come  out,  but  he 
would  not. 

Perhaps  we  have  been  beguiled  by  their  unique  literary 
qualities  into  dwelling  overlong  upon  the  Sagas.  These 
Norse  compositions  belong  to  the  Middle  Ages  only  in 
time ; for  they  were  uninfluenced  either  by  Christianity  or 
the  antique  culture,  the  formative  elements  of  mediaeval 
development.  They  are  interesting  in  their  aloofness,  and 
also  important  for  our  mediaeval  theme,  because  they  were 


i68 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


the  ultimate  as  well  as  the  most  admirable  expression  of  the 
native  Teutonic  genius  as  yet  integral,  but  destined  to  have 
mighty  part  in  the  composite  course  of  mediaeval  growth. 
More  specifically  they  are  the  voice  of  that  falcon  race  which 
came  from  the  Norseland  to  stock  England  with  fresh  strains 
of  Danish  blood,  to  conquer  Normandy,  and  give  new 
courage  to  the  Celtic-German-Frenchmen,  and  thence  went 
on  to  bring  its  hardihood,  war  cunning,  and  keen  statecraft 
to  southern  Italy  and  Sicily.  In  all  these  countries  the 
Norse  nature,  supple  and  pliant,  accepted  the  gifts  of  new 
experience,  and  in  return  imparted  strength  of  purpose  to 
peoples  with  whom  the  Norsemen  mingled  in  marriage  as 
well  as  war. 

This  chapter  has  shown  Teutonic  faculties  still  integral 
and  unmodified  by  Latin  Christian  influence.  Their  partici- 
pation in  the  processes  of  mediaeval  development  will  be 
seen  as  Anglo-Saxons  and  Germans  become  converted  to 
Latin  Christianity,  and  apply  themselves  to  the  study  of 
the  profane  Latinity,  to  which  it  opened  the  way. 


CHAPTER  IX 


THE  BRINGING  OF  CHRISTIANITY  AND  ANTIQUE 
KNOWLEDGE  TO  THE  NORTHERN  PEOPLES 

I.  Irish  Activities;  Coltjmbanus  of  Luxeuil. 

II.  Conversion  of  the  English;  the  Learning  of  Bede 
and  Alfred. 

III.  Gaul  and  Germany;  from  Clovis  to  St.  Winifried- 
Boniface. 

The  northern  peoples,  Celts  and  Teutons  for  the  most  part 
as  they  are  called,  came  into  contact  with  Roman  civiliza- 
tion as  the  great  Republic  brought  Gaul  and  Britain  under 
its  rule.  Since  Rome  was  still  pagan  when  these  lands  were 
made  provinces,  an  unchristianized  Latinity  was  grafted  upon 
their  predominantly  Celtic  populations.  The  second  stage, 
as  it  were,  of  this  contact  between  Rome  and  the  north,  is 
represented  by  that  influx  of  barbarians,  mostly  Teutonic, 
which,  in  both  senses  of  the  word,  quickened  the  disruption 
of  the  Empire  in  the  fourth  and  following  centuries.  The 
religion  called  after  the  name  of  Christ  had  then  been 
accepted ; and  invading  Goths,  Franks,  Burgundians, 
Lombards,  and  the  rest,  were  introduced  to  a somewhat 
Christianized  Latindom.  Indeed,  in  the  Latin-Christian  com- 
bination, the  Christian  element  was  becoming  dominant,  and 
was  soon  to  be  the  chief  means  of  extending  the  antique 
culture.  For  Christianity,  with  Latinity  in  its  train,  was 
to  project  itself  outward  to  subjugate  heathen  Anglo-Saxons 
in  England,  Frisians  in  the  Low  Countries,  and  the  unkempt 
Teutondom  which  roved  east  of  the  Rhine,  and  was  ever 
pressing  southward  over  the  boundaries  of  former  provinces, 
now  reverting  to  unrest.  In  past  times  the  assimilating 
energy  of  Roman  civilization  had  united  western  Europe  in 
a common  social  order.  Henceforth  Christianity  was  to  be 

169 


170 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


the  prime  amalgamator,  while  the  survivals  of  Roman 
institutions  and  the  remnants  of  antique  culture  were  to 
assist  in  secondary  roles.  With  Charles  Martel,  with  Pippin, 
and  with  Charlemagne,  Latin  Christianity  is  the  symbol  of 
civilized  order,  while  heathendom  and  savagery  are  identical. 

I 

The  conversion  of  the  northern  peoples,  and  their 
incidental  introduction  to  profane  knowledge,  wrought  upon 
them  deeply;  while  their  own  qualities  and  the  conditions 
of  their  lives  affected  their  understanding  of  what  they 
received  and  their  attitude  toward  the  new  religion.  Obvi- 
ously the  dissemination  of  Christianity  among  rude  peoples 
would  be  unlike  that  first  spreading  of  the  Gospel  through 
the  Empire,  in  the  course  of  which  it  had  been  transformed 
to  Greek  and  Latin  Christianity.  Italy,  Spain,  and  Gaul 
made  the  western  region  of  this  primary  diffusion  of  the 
Faith.  Of  a distinctly  missionary  character  were  the  further 
labours  which  resulted  in  the  conversion  of  the  fresh  masses 
of  Teutons  who  were  breaking  into  the  Roman  pale,  or  were 
still  moving  restlessly  beyond  it.  Moreover,  between  the 
time  of  the  first  diffusion  of  Christianity  within  the  Empire 
and  that  of  its  missionary  extension  beyond  those  now 
decayed  and  fallen  boundaries,  it  had  been  formulated 
dogmatically,  and  given  ecclesiastical  embodiment  in  a 
Catholic  church  into  which  had  passed  the  conquering  and 
organizing  genius  of  Rome.  This  finished  system  was  pre- 
sented to  simple  peoples,  sanctioned  by  the  authority  and 
dowered  with  the  surviving  culture  of  the  civilized  world. 
It  offered  them  mightier  supernatural  aid,  nobler  knowledge, 
and  a better  ordering  of  life  than  they  had  known.  The 
manner  and  authority  of  its  presentation  hastened  its  accept- 
ance, and  also  determined  the  attitude  toward  it  of  the  new 
converts  and  their  children  for  generations.  Theirs  was  to 
be  the  attitude  of  ignorance  before  recognized  wisdom,  and 
that  of  a docility  which  revered  the  manner  and  form  as 
well  as  the  substance  of  its  lesson.  The  development  of 
mediaeval  Europe  was  affected  by  the  mode  and  circum- 
stances of  this  secondary  propagation  of  Christianity.  For 


chap,  ix  CONVERSION  OF  THE  NORTH  17 1 

centuries  the  northern  peoples  were  to  be  held  in  tutelage 
to  the  form  and  constitution  of  that  which  they  had  received  : 
they  continued  to  revere  the  patristic  sources  of  Christian 
doctrines,  and  to  look  with  awe  upon  the  profane  culture 
accompanying  them. 

Thus,  as  under  authority,  Christianity  came  to  the 
Teutonic  peoples,  even  to  those  who,  like  the  Goths,  were 
converted  to  the  Arian  creed.  Likewise  the  orthodox  belief 
was  brought  to  the  Celtic  Britons  and  Irish  as  a superior 
religion  associated  with  superior  culture.  But  the  qualities 
or  circumstances  of  these  western  Celts  reacted  more  freely 
upon  their  form  of  faith,  because  Ireland  and  Britain  were 
the  fringe  of  the  world,  and  Christianity  was  hardly  fixed  in 
dogma  and  ritual  when  the  conversion  at  least  of  Britain 
began. 

Certain  phrases  of  Tertullian  indicate  that  Christianity 
had  made  some  progress  among  the  Britons  by  the  beginning 
of  the  third  century.  For  the  next  hundred  years  nothing 
is  known  of  the  British  Church,  save  that  it  did  not  suffer 
from  the  persecution  under  Diocletian  in  304,  and  ten  years 
afterwards  was  represented  by  three  bishops  at  the  Council 
of  Arles.  It  was  orthodox,  accepting  the  creed  of  Nicaea 
(a.d.  325)  and  the  date  of  Easter  there  fixed.  The  fourth 
century  seems  to  have  been  the  period  of  its  prosperity. 
It  was  affiliated  with  the  Church  of  Gaul ; nor  did  these 
relations  cease  at  once  when  the  Roman  legions  were  with- 
drawn from  Britain  in  410.  But  not  many  decades  later 
the  Saxon  invasion  began  to  cut  off  Britain  from  the  Christian 
world.  After  a while  certain  divergences  appear  in  rite  and 
custom,  though  not  in  doctrine.  They  seem  not  to  have  been 
serious  when  Gildas  wrote  in  550.  Yet  when  Augustine 
came,  fifty  years  later,  the  Britons  celebrated  Easter  at  a 
different  date  from  that  observed  by  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church ; for  they  followed  the  old  computation  which 
Rome  had  used  before  adopting  the  better  method  of 
Alexandria.  Also  the  mode  of  baptism  and  the  tonsure 
differed  from  the  Roman. 

At  the  close  of  the  sixth  century  the  British  Church 
existed  chiefly  in  Wales,  whither  the  Britons  had  retreated 
before  the  Saxons.  Formerly  there  had  been  no  unwilling- 


i72 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


ness  to  follow  the  Church  of  Rome.  But  now  a long  period 
had  elapsed,  during  which  Britain  had  been  left  to  its  mis- 
fortunes. The  Britons  had  been  raided  and  harassed;  their 
country  invaded;  and  at  last  they  had  been  driven  from 
the  greater  portion  of  their  land.  How  they  hated  those 
Saxon  conquerors ! And  forsooth  a Roman  mission  appears 
to  convert  those  damned  and  hateful  heathen,  and  a some- 
what haughty  summons  issues  to  the  expelled  or  down- 
trodden people  to  abandon  their  own  Christian  usages  for 
those  of  the  Roman  communion,  and  then  join  this  Roman 
mission  in  its  saving  work  among  those  Saxons  whom  the 
Britons  had  met  only  at  the  spear’s  point.  Love  of  ancient 
and  familiar  customs  soured  to  obstinacy  in  the  face  of  such 
demands;  a sweeping  rejection  was  returned.  Yet  to 
conform  to  Roman  usages  and  join  with  Augustine  in  his 
mission  to  the  Saxons,  was  the  only  way  in  which  the 
dwindling  British  Church  could  link  itself  to  the  Christian 
world,  and  save  its  people  from  exterminating  wars.  By 
refusing,  it  committed  suicide. 

A refusal  to  conform,  although  no  refusal  to  undertake 
missions  to  the  Saxons,  came  from  the  Irish-Scottish  Church. 
As  Ireland  had  never  been  drawn  within  the  Roman  world, 
its  conversion  was  later  than  that  of  Britain.  Yet  there 
would  seem  to  have  been  Christians  in  Ireland  before  431; 
for  in  that  year,  according  to  an  older  record  quoted  by 
Bede,  Palladius,  the  first  bishop  ( primus  episcopus),  was  sent 
by  Celestine  the  Roman  pontiff  “ ad  Scottos  in  Christum 
credentes.”  1 The  mission  of  Palladius  does  not  appear  to 
have  been  acceptable  to  the  Irish.  Some  accounts  have 
confused  his  story  with  that  of  Patrick,  the  “Apostle  of 
Ireland,”  whose  apostolic  glory  has  not  been  overthrown  by 
criticism.  The  more  authentic  accounts,  and  above  all  his 
own  Confession , go  far  to  explain  Patrick’s  success.  His 
early  manhood,  passed  as  a slave  in  Antrim,  gave  him 
understanding  of  the  Irish ; and  doubtless  his  was  a great 
missionary  capacity  and  zeal.  The  natural  approach  to 
such  a people  was  through  their  tribal  kings,  and  Patrick 

1 Bede,  Hist.  Ecc.  i.  13.  Moreover,  the  chief  partisan  of  Pelagius  (a  Briton) 
was  Coelestinus,  an  Irishman  whose  restless  activity  falls  in  the  thirty  years  preceding 

the  mission  of  Palladius. 


chap,  ix  CONVERSION  OF  THE  NORTH 


i73 


appears  to  have  made  his  prime  onslaught  upon  Druidical 
heathendom  at  Tara,  the  abode  of  the  high  king  of  Ireland. 
The  earliest  accounts  do  not  refer  to  any  authority  from 
Rome.  Patrick  seems  to  have  acted  from  spontaneous 
inspiration ; and  a like  independence  characterizes  the 
monastic  Christianity  which  sprang  up  in  Ireland  and  over- 
leapt the  water  to  Iona,  to  Christianize  Scotland  as  well  as 
northern  Anglo-Saxon  heathendom.1 

Irish  monasticism  was  an  ascetically  ordered  continuance 
of  Irish  society.  If,  like  other  early  western  monasticism, 
it  derived  suggestions  from  Syria  or  Egypt,  it  was  far  more 
the  product  of  Irish  temperament,  customs,  and  conditions. 
One  may  also  find  a potent  source  in  the  monastic  com- 
munities alleged  to  have  existed  in  Ireland  in  the  days  of 
the  Druids.  Doubtless  many  members  of  that  caste  became 
Christian  monks. 

The  noblest  passion  of  Irish  monastic  Christianity  was 
to  peregrinare  for  the  sake  of  Christ,  and  spread  the  Faith 
among  the  heathen;  the  most  interesting  episodes  of  its 
history  are  the  wanderings  and  missionary  labours  and 
foundations  of  its  leaders.  The  careers  of  Columba  and 
Columbanus  afford  grandiose  examples.  Something  has 
been  said  of  the  former.  The  monastery  which  he  founded 
on  the  Island  of  Iona  was  the  Faith’s  fountainhead  for 
Scotland  and  the  Saxon  north  of  England  in  the  sixth  and 
seventh  centuries.  About  the  time  of  Columba’s  birth,  men 
from  Dalriada  on  the  north  coast  of  Ireland  crossed  the 
water  to  found  another  Dalriada  in  the  present  Argyleshire, 
and  transfer  the  name  of  Scotia  (Ireland)  to  Scotland. 
When  Columba  landed  at  Iona,  these  settlers  were  hard 
pressed  by  the  heathen  Piets  under  King  Brude  or  Bridius. 
Accompanied  by  two  Pictish  Christians,  he  penetrated  to 
B rude’s  dwelling,  near  the  modern  Inverness,  converted  that 
monarch  in  565,  and  averted  the  overthrow  of  Dalriada. 
For  the  next  thirty  years  Columba  and  his  monks  did  not 
cease  from  their  labours ; numbers  of  monasteries  were 
founded,  daughters  of  Iona ; and  great  parts  of  Scotland 
became  Christian  at  least  in  name.  The  supreme  authority 

1 On  Patrick,  see  Bury,  The  Life  of  St.  Patrick  and  his  Place  in  History  (London, 

1905). 


174 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


was  the  Abbot  of  Iona  with  his  council  of  monks ; “ bishops  ” 
performed  their  functions  under  him.  Early  in  the  seventh 
century,  St.  Aidan  was  ordained  bishop  in  Iona  and  sent  to 
convert  the  Anglo-Saxons  of  Northumberland.  The  story 
of  the  Irish  Church  in  the  north  is  one  of  effective  mission 
work,  but  unsuccessful  organization,  wherein  it  was  inferior 
to  the  Roman  Church.  Its  representatives  suffered  defeat  at 
the  Synod  of  Whitby  in  664.  Fifty  years  afterward  Iona 
gave  up  its  separate  usages  and  accepted  the  Roman  Easter.1 

The  missionary  labours  of  the  Irish  were  not  confined 
to  Great  Britain,  but  extended  far  and  wide  through  the 
west  of  Europe.  In  the  sixth  and  seventh  centuries,  Irish 
monasteries  were  founded  in  Austrasia  and  Burgundy,  Italy, 
Switzerland,  Bavaria ; they  were  established  among  Frisians, 
Saxons,  Alemanni.  And  as  centres  of  Latin  education  as 
well  as  Christianity,  the  names  of  Bobbio  and  St.  Gall  will 
occur  to  every  one.  Of  these,  the  first  directly  and  the 
second  through  a disciple  were  due  to  Columbanus.  With 
him  we  enter  the  larger  avenues  of  Irish  missions  to  the 
heathen,  the  semi-heathen,  and  the  lax,  and  upon  the 
question  of  their  efficacy  in  the  preservation  of  Latin  educa- 
tion throughout  the  rent  and  driven  fragments  of  the  western 
Roman  Empire.  The  story  of  Columban’s  life  is  illuminat- 
ing and  amusing.2 


1 As  for  the  Irish  Church  in  Ireland,  there  were  many  differences  in  usage  be- 
tween it  and  the  Church  of  Rome.  In  the  matters  of  Easter  and  the  tonsure  the 
southern  Irish  were  won  over  to  the  Roman  customs  before  the  middle  of  the  seventh 
century,  and  after  that  the  Roman  Easter  made  its  way  to  acceptance  through  the 
island.  Yet  still  the  Irish  appear  to  have  used  their  own  Liturgy,  and  to  have  shown 
little  repugnance  to  the  marriage  of  priests.  The  organization  of  the  churches  re- 
mained monastic  rather  than  diocesan  or  episcopal,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  “ bishops,” 
apparently  with  parochial  functions,  existed  in  great  numbers.  Hereditary  customs 
governed  the  succession  of  the  great  abbots,  as  at  Armagh,  until  the  time  of  St.  Malachy, 
a contemporary  of  St.  Bernard.  See  St.  Bernard’s  Life  of  Malachy,  chap,  x.,  Migne 
182,  col.  1086,  cited  by  Killen,  o.c.  vol.  i.  p.  173.  The  exertions  of  Gregory  VII. 
and  Lanfranc,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  did  much  to  bring  the  Irish  Church  into 
obedience  to  Rome.  Various  Irish  synods  in  the  twelfth  century  completed  a proper 
diocesan  system.  Cf.  Killen,  Eccl.  Hist,  of  Ireland,  vol.  i.  pp.  162-222;  also  the  article 
in  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica  on  the  history  of  Ireland  by  Quiggin  and  Bagwell. 

2 The  works  of  St.  Columbanus  or  Columban,  usually  called  of  Luxeuil,  are 
printed  in  Migne’s  Patrologia  Latina,  80,  col.  209-296.  The  chief  source  of  know- 
ledge of  his  life  is  the  Vita  by  Jonas  his  disciple : Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  87,  col.  1009-1046. 
It  has  been  translated  by  D.  C.  Munro,  in  vol.  ii.  No.  7 (series  of  1895)  of  Trans- 
lations, etc.,  published  by  University  of  Pennsylvania  (Phila.  1897).  See  also  Montalem- 
bert,  Monks  of  the  West,  book  vii.  (vol.  ii.  of  English  translation). 


CHAP.  IX 


CONVERSION  OF  THE  NORTH  175 


He  was  bom  in  Leinster.  While  yet  a boy  he  felt  the 
conflict  between  fleshly  lusts  and  that  counter-ascetic  passion 
which  throughout  the  Christian  world  was  drawing  thousands 
into  monasteries.  Asceticism,  with  desire  for  knowledge, 
won  the  victory,  and  the  youth  entered  the  monastery  of 
Bangor,  in  the  extreme  north-east  of  Ireland.  There  he 
passed  years  of  labour,  study,  and  self-mortification.  At 
length  the  pilgrim  mission-passion  came  upon  him  (coepit 
peregrinationem  desiderate ) and  his  importunity  overcame 
the  abbot’s  reluctance  to  let  him  depart.  Twelve  disciples 
are  said  to  have  followed  him  across  the  water  to  the  shores 
of  Britain.  There  they  hesitated  in  anxious  doubt,  till  it 
was  decided  to  cross  to  Gaul. 

This  was  about  the  year  590.  Columban’s  austere  and 
commanding  form,  his  fearlessness,  his  quick  and  fiery 
tongue,  impressed  the  people  among  whom  he  came. 
Reports  of  his  holiness  spread ; multitudes  sought  his 
blessing.  He  traversed  the  country,  preaching  and  setting 
his  own  stern  example,  until  he  reached  the  land  of  the 
Burgundians,  where  Gontran,  a grandson  of  Clovis,  reigned. 
Well  received  by  this  ruler,  Columban  established  himself  in 
an  old  castle.  His  disciples  grew  in  numbers,  and  after  a 
while  Gontran  granted  him  an  extensive  Roman  structure 
called  Luxovium  (Luxeuil),  situated  at  the  confines  of  the 
Burgundian  and  Austrasian  kingdoms.  Columban  con- 
verted this  into  a monastery,  and  it  soon  included  many 
noble  Franks  and  Burgundians  among  its  monks.  For  them 
he  composed  a monastic  regula , stern  and  cruel  in  its  penalties 
of  many  stripes  imposed  for  trivial  faults.  “ Whoever  may 
wish  to  know  his  strenuousness  ( strenuitatem ) will  find  it  in 
his  precepts,”  writes  the  monk  Jonas,  who  had  lived  under 
him. 

The  strenuousness  of  this  masterful  and  overbearing 
man  was  displayed  in  his  controversy  with  the  Gallican 
clergy,  upon  whom  he  tried  to  impose  the  Easter  day 
observed  by  the  Celtic  Church  in  the  British  Isles.  In  his 
letter  to  the  Gallican  synod,  he  points  out  their  errors,  and 
lectures  them  on  their  Christian  duties,  asking  pardon  at  the 
end  for  his  loquacity  and  presumption.  Years  afterwards, 
entering  upon  another  controversy,  he  wrote  an  extra- 


176 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


ordinary  letter  to  Pope  Boniface  IV.  The  superscription  is 
Hibernian : “To  the  most  beautiful  head  of  all  the  churches 
of  entire  Europe,  the  most  sweet  pope,  the  most  high 
president,  the  most  reverent  investigator : O marvellous ! 

mirum  dictu ! nova  res ! rara  avis ! — that  the  lowest  to  the 
loftiest,  the  clown  to  the  polite,  the  stammerer  to  the  prince 
of  eloquence,  the  stranger  to  the  son  of  the  house,  the  last 
to  the  first,  that  the  Wood-pigeon  (Palumbus)  should  dare 
to  write  to  Father  Boniface ! ” Whereupon  this  Wood- 
pigeon  writes  a long  letter  in  which  belligerent  expostulation 
alternates  with  self-debasement.  He  dubs  himself  ‘ garrulus, 
presumptuosus,  homunculus  vilissimae  qualitatis,”  who  caps 
his  impudence  by  writing  unrequested.  He  implores  pardon 
for  his  harsh  and  too  biting  speech,  while  he  deplores — to 
him  who  sat  thereon— the  infamia  of  Peter’s  Seat,  and  shrills 
to  the  Pope  to  watch : “Vigila  itaque,  quaeso,  papa,  vigila ; 

et  iterum  dico : vigila” ; and  he  marvels  at  the  Pope’s 
lethal  sleep. 

One  who  thus  berated  pope  and  clergy  might  be  cen- 
sorious of  princes.  Gontran  died.  After  various  dynastic 
troubles,  the  Burgundian  land  came  under  the  rule  nominally 
of  young  Theuderic,  but  actually  of  his  imperious  grand- 
mother, the  famous  Brunhilde.  In  order  that  no  queen- 
wife’s  power  should  supplant  her  own,  she  encouraged  her 
grandson  to  content  himself  with  mistresses.  The  youth 
stood  in  awe  of  the  stern  old  figure  ruling  at  Luxeuil,  who 
more  than  once  reproved  him  for  not  wedding  a lawful 
queen.  It  happened  one  day  when  Columban  was  at 
Brunhilde’s  residence  that  she  brought  out  Theuderic’s 
various  sons  for  him  to  bless.  “Never  shall  sceptre  be  held 
by  this  brothel-brood,”  said  he. 

Henceforth  it  was  war  between  these  two : Theuderic 
was  the  pivot  of  the  storm ; the  one  worked  upon  his  fears, 
the  other  played  upon  his  lusts.  Brunhilde  prevailed.  She 
incited  the  king  to  insist  that  Luxeuil  be  made  open  to  all, 
and  with  his  retinue  to  push  his  way  into  the  monastery. 
The  saint  withstood  him  fiercely,  and  prophesied  his  ruin. 
The  king  drew  back;  the  saint  followed,  heaping  reproaches 
on  him,  till  the  young  king  said  with  some  self-restraint : 
“You  hope  to  win  the  crown  of  martyrdom  through  me. 


chap.  ix.  CONVERSION  OF  THE  NORTH 


177 


But  I am  not  a lunatic,  to  commit  such  a crime.  I 
have  a better  plan : since  you  won’t  fall  in  with  the  ways 
of  men  of  the  world,  you  shall  go  back  by  the  road  you 
came.” 

So  the  king  sent  his  retainers  to  seize  the  stubborn  saint. 
They  took  him  as  a prisoner  to  Besangon.  He  escaped, 
and  hurried  back  to  Luxeuil.  Again  the  king  sent,  this 
time  a count  with  soldiers,  to  drive  him  from  the  land. 
They  feared  the  sacrilege  of  laying  hands  on  the  old  man. 
In  the  church,  surrounded  by  his  monks  praying  and  singing 
psalms,  he  awaited  them  “O  man  of  God,”  cried  the 
count,  “we  beseech  thee  to  obey  the  royal  command,  and 
take  thy  way  to  the  place  from  which  thou  earnest.”  “Nay, 
I will  rather  please  my  Creator,  by  abiding  here,”  returned 
the  saint.  The  count  retired,  leaving  a few  rough  soldiers 
to  carry  out  the  king’s  will.  These,  still  fearing  to  use 
violence,  begged  the  saint  to  take  pity  on  them,  unjustly 
burdened  with  this  evil  task — to  disobey  their  orders  meant 
their  death.  The  saint  reiterates  his  determination  to 
abide,  till  they  fall  on  their  knees,  cling  to  his  robe,  and 
with  groans  implore  his  pardon  for  the  crime  they  must 
execute. 

From  pity  the  saint  yields  at  last,  and  a company  of  the 
king’s  men  make  ready  and  escort  him  from  the  kingdom 
westward  toward  Brittany.  Many  miracles  mark  the 
journey.  They  reach  the  Loire,  and  embark  on  it.  Pro- 
ceeding down  the  river  they  come  to  Tours,  where  the  saint 
asks  to  be  allowed  to  land  and  worship  at  St.  Martin’s 
shrine.  The  leader  bids  the  rowers  keep  the  middle  of  the 
stream  and  row  on.  But  the  boat  resistlessly  made  its  way 
to  the  landing-place.  Columban  passed  the  night  at  the 
shrine,  and  the  next  day  was  hospitably  entertained  by  the 
bishop,  who  inquired  why  he  was  returning  to  his  native 
land.  “ The  dog  Theuderic  has  driven  me  from  my 
brethren,”  answered  the  saint.  At  last  Nantes  was  reached 
near  the  mouth  of  the  Loire,  where  the  vessel  was  waiting 
to  carry  the  exile  back  to  Ireland.  Columban  wrote  a 
letter  to  his  monks,  in  which  he  poured  forth  his  love  to 
them  with  much  advice  as  to  their  future  conduct.  The 
letter  is  filled  with  grief — suppressed  lest  it  unman  his 

VOL.  I N 


178  THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND  book  i 

beloved  children.  “While  I write,  the  messenger  comes  to 
say  that  the  ship  is  ready  to  bear  me,  unwilling,  to  my 
country.  But  there  is  no  guard  to  prevent  my  escape,  and 
these  people  even  seem  to  wish  it.” 

The  letter  ends,  but  not  the  story.  Columban  did  not 
sail  for  Ireland.  Jonas  says  that  the  vessel  was  miraculously 
impeded,  and  that  then  Columban  was  permitted  to  go 
whither  he  would.  So  the  dauntless  old  man  travelled 
back  from  the  sea,  and  went  to  the  Neustrian  Court,  the 
people  along  the  way  bringing  him  their  children  to  bless. 
He  did  not  rest  in  Neustria,  for  the  desire  was  upon  him  to 
preach  to  the  heathen.  Making  his  way  to  the  Rhine,  he 
embarked  near  Mainz,  ascended  the  river,  and  at  last 
established  himself,  with  his  disciples,  upon  the  lake  of 
Constance.  There  they  preached  to  the  heathen,  and 
threw  their  idols  into  the  lake.  He  had  the  thought  to 
preach  to  the  Wends,  but  this  was  not  to  be. 

The  time  soon  came  when  all  Austrasia  fell  into  the  hands 
of  Brunhilde  and  Theuderic,  and  Columbanus  decided  to 
cross  over  into  northern  Italy,  breaking  out  in  anger  at  his 
disciple  Gall,  who  was  too  sick  to  go  with  him.  With  other 
disciples  he  made  the  arduous  journey,  and  reached  the 
land  of  the  Lombards.  King  Agilulf  made  him  a gift  of 
Bobbio,  lying  in  a gorge  of  the  Apennines  near  Genoa,  and 
there  he  founded  the  monastery  which  long  was  to  be  a 
stronghold  of  letters.  For  himself,  his  career  was  well-nigh 
run;  he  retired  to  a solitary  spot  on  the  banks  of  the  river 
Trebbia,  where  he  passed  away,  being,  apparently,  some 
seventy  years  of  age. 

It  may  seem  surprising  that  this  strenuous  ascetic  should 
occasionally  have  occupied  a leisure  hour  writing  Latin 
poems  in  imitation  of  the  antique.  There  still  exists  such 
an  effusion  to  a friend : 

“Accipe,  quaeso, 

Nunc  bipedali 
Condita  versu 
Carminulorum 
Munera  parva.” 

The  verses  consist  mainly  of  classic  allusions  and  advice 
of  an  antique  rather  than  a Christian  flavour : the  wise  will 


chap,  ix  CONVERSION  OF  THE  NORTH 


179 


cease  to  add  coin  to  coin,  and  will  despise  wealth,  but  not 
the  pastime  of  such  verse  as  the 

“ Inclyta  Vates 
Nomine  Sappho  ” 

was  wont  to  make.  ‘ Now,  dear  Fedolius,  quit  learned 
numbers  and  accept  our  squibs — -frivola  nostra.  I have 
dictated  them  oppressed  with  pain  and  old  age : Vive,  vale, 
laetus,  tristisque  memento  senectae.”  The  last  is  a pagan 
reminiscence,  which  the  saint’s  Christian  soul  may  not  have 
deeply  felt.  But  the  poem  shows  the  saint’s  classic  training, 
which  probably  was  exceptional.  For  there  is  no  evidence 
of  like  knowledge  in  any  Irishman  before  him ; and  after 
his  time,  in  the  seventh  century,  or  the  eighth,  Latin  educa- 
tion in  Ireland  was  confined  to  a few  monastic  centres.  A 
small  minority  studied  the  profanities,  sometimes  because 
they  liked  them,  but  oftener  as  the  means  of  proficiency  in 
sacred  learning. 

The  Irish  had  cleverness,  facility,  ardour,  and  energy. 
They  did  much  for  the  dissemination  of  Christianity  and 
letters.  Their  deficiency  was  lack  of  organization ; and 
they  had  but  little  capacity  for  ordered  discipline  humbly 
and  obediently  accepted  from  others.  Consequently,  when 
the  period  of  evangelization  was  past  in  western  Europe, 
and  organization  was  needed  with  united  and  persistent 
effort  for  order,  the  Irish  ceased  to  lead  or  even  to  keep  pace 
with  those  to  whom  once  they  had  brought  the  Gospel.  In 
Anglo-Saxon  England  and  on  the  Caroiingian  continent 
they  became  strains  of  influence  handed  on.  This  was  the 
fortune  which  overtook  them  as  illuminators  of  manuscripts 
and  preservers  of  knowledge.  Their  emotional  traits,  more- 
over, entered  the  larger  currents  of  mediaeval  feeling  and 
imagination.  Strains  of  the  Irish,  or  a kindred  Celtic 
temperament,  passed  on  into  such  “Breton”  matters  as  the 
Tristan  story,  wherein  love  is  passion  unrestrained,  and  is 
more  distinctly  out  of  relationship  with  ethical  considera- 
tions than,  for  example,  the  equally  adulterous  tale  of 
Lancelot  and  Guinevere.1 

1 The  article  of  H.  Zimmer,  “ Uber  die  Bedeutung  des  irischen  Elements  fur 
die  mittelalterliche  Cultur,”  Preussische  Jahrbucher,  Bd.  59,  1887,  presents  an  in- 
teresting summary  of  the  Irish  influence.  His  views,  and  still  more  those  of 


i8o 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


II 

The  Saxon  invasions  of  the  fifth  and  sixth  centuries 
drove  Christianity  and  letters  from  the  land  where  the 
semi-Romanized  Britons  and  their  church  had  flourished. 
To  reconvert  and  instruct  anew  a relapsed  heathen  country 
was  the  task  which  Gregory  the  Great  laid  on  the  willing 
Augustine.  The  story  of  that  famous  mission  (a.d.  5Q7) 
need  not  be  told ; 1 but  we  may  note  the  manner  of  the 
presentation  of  Christianity  to  the  heathen  Saxons,  and  the 
temper  of  its  reception.  Most  impressive  was  this  bringing 
of  the  Faith.  Augustine  and  his  band  of  monks  came  as 
a stately  embassy  from  Rome,  the  traditionary  centre  of 
imperial  and  spiritual  power.  Their  coming  was  a solemn 
call  to  the  English  to  associate  themselves  with  all  that  was 
most  august  and  authoritative  in  heaven  and  earth.  Accord- 
ing to  Bede,  Augustine  sent  a messenger  to  Ethelbert,  the 
Kentish  king,  to  announce  that  he  had  come  from  Rome 
bearing  the  best  of  messages,  and  would  assure  to  such  as 
hearkened  eternal  joys  in  heaven  and  dominion  without 
end  with  the  living  and  true  God.  To  Ethelbert,  whose 
kingdom  lay  at  the  edge  of  the  great  world,  the  message 
came  from  this  world’s  sovereign  pontiff,  who  in  some  awful 
way  represented  its  mighty  God,  and  had  authority  to 
admit  to  His  kingdom.  He  was  not  ignorant  of  what  lay 
within  the  hand  of  Rome  to  give.  His  wife  was  a Catholic 
Christian,  daughter  of  a Frankish  king,  and  had  her  own 
ministering  bishop.  Doubtless  the  queen  had  spoken  with 
her  lord.  Still  Ethelbert  feared  the  spell-craft  of  this  awe- 
inspiring embassy,  and  would  meet  Augustine  only  under 


Ozanam  in  Civilisation  chretienne  chez  les  Francs,  chap,  v.,  should  be  controlled  by 
the  detailed  discussion  in  Roger’s  U Enseignement  des  lettres  classiques  d’Ausone 
d Alcuin  (Paris,  1905),  chaps,  vi.  vii.  and  viii.  See  also  G.  T.  Stokes,  Ireland  and 
the  Celtic  Church,  Lect.  XI.  (London,  1892,  3rd  ed.) ; D’Arbois  de  Jubainville,  In- 
troduction a V etude  de  la  litterature  celtique,  livre  ii.  chap.  ix. ; F.  J.  H.  Jenkinson,  The 
Hisperica  Famina  (Cambridge  and  New  York,  1909).  Obviously  it  is  unjustifiable 
(though  it  has  been  done)  to  regard  the  scholarship  of  gifted  Irishmen  who  lived 
on  the  Continent  in  the  ninth  century  (Sedulius  Scotus,  Eriugena,  etc.)  as  evidence 
of  scholarship  in  Ireland  in  the  sixth,  seventh,  or  eighth  century.  We  do  not  know 
where  these  later  men  obtained  their  knowledge;  there  is  little  reason  to  suppose 
that  they  got  it  in  Ireland. 

1 See  the  narrative  in  Green’s  History  of  the  English  People. 


chap,  ix  CONVERSION  OF  THE  NORTH 


181 


the  open  sky.  Augustine  came  to  the  meeting,  a silver 
cross  borne  before  him  as  a banner,  and  the  pictured  image 
of  Christ,  his  monks  singing  litanies  and  loudly  supplicating 
their  Lord  for  the  king’s  and  their  own  salvation.  Know- 
ledge, authority,  supernatural  power,  were  represented  here. 
And  how  could  the  king  fail  to  be  struck  by  the  nobility 
of  Augustine’s  Gospel  message,  by  its  clear  assurance,  its 
love  and  terror,1  so  overwhelming  and  convincing,  so  far  out- 
soaring  Ethelbert’s  heathen  religion?  To  be  sure,  in 
Christian  love  and  forgiveness  lay  some  reversal  of  Saxon 
morality,  for  instance  of  the  duty  of  revenge.  But  this  was 
not  prominent  in  the  Christianity  of  the  day ; and  experience 
was  to  show  that  only  in  isolated  instances  did  this  teaching 
impede  the  acceptance  of  the  Gospel.2 

Ethelbert  spoke  these  missionaries  fair;  accorded  them 
a habitation  in  Canterbury  with  the  privilege  of  celebrating 
their  Christian  rites  and  preaching  to  his  people.  There 
they  abode,  zealous  in  vigils  and  fastings,  and  preaching 
the  word  of  life.  Certain  heathen  men  were  converted, 
then  the  king,  and  then  his  folk  in  multitudes — the  usual 
way.  Under  the  direction  of  Gregory,  Augustine  proceeded 
with  that  combination  of  insistence,  dignity,  and  tolerance, 
so  well  understood  in  the  Roman  Church.  There  was  in- 
sistence upon  the  main  doctrines  and  requirements  of  the 
Faith — upon  the  Roman  Easter  day  and  baptism,  as  against 
the  practices  of  the  British  Church.  Tolerance  was  shown 
respecting  heathen  fanes  and  sacrificial  feastings;  the  fanes 
should  be  reconsecrated  as  Christian  churches ; the  feasts 
should  be  continued  in  honour  of  the  true  God.3 

Besides  zeal  and  knowledge  and  authority,  miracles 
advanced  Augustine’s  enterprise.  To  eliminate  by  any 
sweeping  negation  the  miraculous  element  from  the  causes 


1 There  is  no  positive  evidence  that  Augustine  painted  the  terrors  of  the  Day 
of  Judgment  in  his  first  preaching.  But  it  was  a chief  part  of  the  mediaeval  Gos- 
pel, and  never  absent  from  the  soul  of  Augustine’s  master,  Gregory.  The  latter 
set  it  forth  vividly  in  his  letter  to  Ethelbert  after  his  baptism  (Bede,  Hist.  Ecc.  i.  32). 

2 Bede,  Hist.  Ecc.  iii.  22,  tells  how  a certain  noble  gesith  slew  his  king  from 
exasperation  with  the  latter’s  practice  of  forgiving  his  enemies,  instead  of  requiting 
them,  according  to  the  principles  of  heathen  morality. 

3 Bede,  Hist.  Ecc.  i.  30.  Well  known  are  the  picturesque  scenes  surrounding 
the  long  controversy  as  to  Easter  between  the  Roman  clergy  and  the  British  and  Irish. 
The  matter  bulks  hugely  in  Bede’s  book,  as  it  did  in  his  mind. 


182 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


of  success  of  such  a mission  is  to  close  our  eyes  to  the 
situation.  All  men  expected  miracles;  Gregory  who  sent 
Augustine  was  infatuated  with  them.  Augustine  performed 
them,  or  believed  he  did,  and  others  believed  it  too. 
Throughout  these  centuries,  and  indeed  late  into  the 
mediaeval  period,  the  power  and  habit  of  working  miracles 
constituted  sainthood  in  the  hermit  or  the  monk,  thereby 
singled  out  as  the  special  instrument  of  God’s  will  or  the 
Virgin’s  kindness.  Of  course  miracles  were  ascribed  to  the 
great  missionary  apostles  like  Augustine  or  Boniface ; and 
this  conviction  brought  many  conversions. 

Among  the  heathen  English  about  to  be  converted,  there 
was  diversity  of  view  and  mood  as  to  the  Faith.  They 
stood  in  awe  of  these  newcomers  from  Rome,  fearing  their 
spell-craft.  From  their  old  religion  they  had  sought  earthly 
victory  and  prosperity;  and  some  had  found  it  of  uncertain 
aid.  “See,  king,  how  this  matter  stands,”  says  Coifi,  at 
the  Northumbrian  Witenagemot  held  by  Edwin  to  decide 
as  to  the  new  religion : “ I have  learned  of  a certainty 
that  there  is  no  virtue  or  utility  whatever  in  that  religion 
which  we  have  been  following.  None  of  your  thanes  has 
slaved  in  the  worship  of  our  gods  more  zealously  than  I. 
Yet  many  have  had  greater  rewards  and  dignities  from  you, 
and  in  every  way  have  prospered  more.  Were  the  gods 
worth  anything,  they  would  wish  rather  to  aid  me,  who 
have  been  so  zealous  in  serving  them.  So  if  these  new 
teachings  are  better  and  stronger,  let  us  accept  them  at 
once.”  1 Coifi  expressed  the  common  motives  of  converts 
of  all  nations  from  the  time  of  Constantine.  No  better 
thought  of  Christian  expediency  had  inspired  Gregory  of 
Tours’s  story  of  Clovis’s  career;  and  Bede  in  no  way  con- 
demns Coifi’s  verba  prudentiae , as  he  terms  them.  Naturally 
in  times  of  adversity  such  converts  were  quick  to  abandon 
their  new  religion,  proved  ineffectual.2 

Among  these  Angles  of  Northumberland,  however,  finer 
souls  were  looking  for  light  and  certitude.  Such  a one  was 
that  thane  who  followed  Coifi  with  the  wonderful  illustration 
of  man’s  mortal  need  of  enlightenment,  the  thane  for  whom 
life  was  as  the  swallow  flying  through  the  warmed  and 

1 Bede  ii.  13.  2 E.g.  as  in  Bede  iii.  1. 


chap,  ix  CONVERSION  OF  THE  NORTH  183 

lighted  hall,  from  the  dark  cold  into  the  dark  cold : “ So 

this  life  of  men  comes  into  sight  for  a little ; we  are  ignorant 
of  what  shall  follow  or  what  may  have  preceded.  If  this 
new  doctrine  offers  anything  more  certain,  I think  we  should 
follow  it.”  The  heathen  poetry  had  given  varied  voice 
to  this  contemplative  melancholy  so  wont  to  dwell  on  life’s 
untoward  changes ; and  there  was  ghostly  evidence  of  the 
other  world  before  the  coming  of  the  Roman  monks.  Now, 
as  those  monks  came  with  authority  from  the  traditionary 
home  of  ghostly  lore,  why  question  their  knowledge  of  the 
life  beyond  the  grave?  Many  Anglo-Saxons  were  prepared 
to  fix  their  gaze  upon  a life  to  come  and  to  let  their  fancies 
fill  with  visions  of  the  great  last  severance  unto  heaven 
and  hell.  When  once  impressed  by  the  monastic  Christi- 
anity 1 of  the  Roman,  or  the  Irish,  mission,  they  were 
quick  to  throw  themselves  into  the  ascetic  life  which 
most  surely  opened  heaven’s  doors.  So  many  a noble 
thane  became  an  anchorite  or  a monk,  many  a noble 
dame  became  a nun ; and  Saxon  kings  forsook  their 
kingdoms  for  the  cloister : “Cenred,  who  for  some  time 
had  reigned  most  nobly  in  Mercia,  still  more  nobly  aban- 
doned his  sceptre.  For  he  came  to  Rome,  and  there  was 
tonsured  and  made  a monk  at  the  church  of  the  Apostles, 
and  continued  in  prayers  and  fastings  and  almsgiving  until 
his  last  day.” 2 

As  might  be  expected,  the  re-expression  of  Christianity 
in  Anglo-Saxon  writings  was  martial  and  emotional.  A 
martial  tone  pervades  the  epic  paraphrases  of  Scripture,  the 
Anglo-Saxon  Genesis  for  example.  On  the  other  hand, 
adaptations  of  devotional  Latin  compositions 3 evince  a 
realization  of  Christian  feeling  and  prevalent  ascetic  senti- 
ments. The  “elegiac”  Anglo-Saxon  feeling  seems  to  reach 
its  height  in  a more  original  composition,  the  Christ  of 
Cynewulf,  while  the  emotional  fervour  coming  with  Christi- 
anity is  disclosed  in  Bede’s  account  of  the  inspiration  which 
fell  upon  the  cowherd  Caedmon,  in  St.  Hilda’s  monastery 

1 One  may  bear  in  mind  that  practically  all  active  proselytizing  Christianity 
of  the  period  was  of  a monastic  type. 

2 a.d.  709.  Hist.  Ecc.  v.  19,  where  another  instance  is  also  given;  and  see  ibid. 

v.  7. 

3 See  the  pieces  in  Thorpe’s  Codex  Exoniensis,  e.g.  the  “Supplication,”  p.  452. 


184 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


of  Whitby,  to  sing  the  story  of  creation.1  A pervasive 
monastic  atmosphere  also  surrounds  the  visions  of  hell  and 
purgatory,  which  were  to  continue  so  typically  characteristic 
of  monastic  Christianity.2 

What  knowledge,  sacred  and  profane,  came  to  the  Anglo- 
Saxons  with  Christianity  ? Quite  properly  learned  were 
Augustine  and  the  other  organizers  of  the  English  Church. 
Two  generations  after  him,  the  Greek  monk  Theodore  was 
sent  by  the  Pope  to  become  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
complete  Augustine’s  work  and  instruct  the  English  monks 
and  clergy.  Theodore  was  accompanied  by  his  friend 
Hadrian,  as  learned  as  himself.  Their  labours  finally  estab- 
lished Roman  Christianity  in  England.  The  two  drew 
about  them  a band  of  students,  and  formed  at  Canterbury 
a school  of  sacred  learning,  where  liberal  studies  were  con- 
ducted by  these  foreigners  with  a knowledge  and  intelligence 
novel  in  Great  Britain.  In  the  north,  Benedict  Biscop,  a 
Northumbrian,  promoted  the  ends  of  Roman  Catholicism 
and  learning  by  establishing  the  monasteries  of  Wearmouth 
and  Jarrow  under  the  monastic  regula  of  St.  Benedict  of 
Nursia,  as  modified  by  the  practices  of  continental  monas- 
teries in  the  seventh  century.  He  had  been  in  Italy,  and 
brought  thence  many  books.  It  was  among  these  books 
that  Bede  grew  up  at  Jarrow. 

Thus  strong  currents  of  Roman  ecclesiasticism  and 
liberal  knowledge  reached  England.  On  the  other  hand, 
Irish  monastic  Christianity  had  already  made  its  entry  in 
the  south-western  part  of  Great  Britain,  and  with  greater 
strength  established  itself  in  the  north,  converting  multi- 
tudes to  the  Faith  and  instructing  such  as  would  learn.  The 
Irish  teaching  had  been  eagerly  received  by  those  groups 
of  Anglo-Saxons  who  henceforth  were  to  prosecute  their 
studies  with  the  aid  of  the  further  knowledge  and  discipline 
brought  from  the  Continent  by  Theodore.  Some  of  them 
had  even  journeyed  to  Ireland  to  study. 

From  this  dual  source  was  drawn  the  education  of 


1 Ecc.  Hist.  iv.  22. 

2 Bede,  Hist.  Ecc.  iii.  19;  v.  12,  13,  14.  Of  these  the  most  famous  is  the  vision 
of  Fursa,  an  Irishman;  but  others  were  had  by  Northumbrians.  Plummer,  in  his 
edition  of  Bede,  vol.  ii.  p.  294,  gives  a list  of  such  visions  in  the  Middle  Ages. 


chap,  ix  CONVERSION  OF  THE  NORTH  185 

Aldhelm.  He  was  born  in  Wessex  about  the  year  650,  and 
was  nephew  of  the  powerful  King  Ini.  He  became  abbot 
of  Malmesbury  in  675.  An  Irish  monk  was  his  first  teacher; 
his  second,  the  learned  Hadrian.  From  the  two  he  received 
a broader  education  than  any  Anglo-Saxon  had  possessed 
before  him.  Always  holding  in  view  the  perfecting  of  his 
sacred  knowledge,  he  studied  grammar  and  kindred  topics, 
produced  treatises  himself,  and  as  a Catholic  student  and 
teacher  was  a true  forerunner  of  the  greatest  scholar  among 
his  younger  contemporaries,  Bede.1 

Bede  the  Venerable,  and  we  may  add  the  still  beloved, 
was  Aldhelm ’s  junior  by  some  twenty-five  years.  He  was 
born  in  673  and  died  in  735.  He  passed  his  whole  life 
reading,  teaching,  and  writing  in  the  Cloister  of  Jarrow  near 
where  he  was  born,  and  not  far  from  where,  beneath  the 
“ Galilee’’  of  Durham  Cathedral,  his  bones  have  long  re- 
posed. Behind  him  was  the  double  tradition  of  learning, 
the  Irish  and  the  Graeco-Roman.  Through  a long  life  of 
pious  study,  Bede  drew  into  his  mind,  and  incorporated  in 
his  writings,  practically  the  total  sum  of  knowledge  then 
accessible  in  western  Europe.  He  stands  between  the  great 
Latin  transmitters  (Boethius,  Cassiodorus,  Gregory  and 
Isidore)  and  the  epoch  known  as  the  Carolingian.  He  was 
himself  a transmitter  of  knowledge  to  that  later  time.  If 
in  spirit,  race,  epoch  and  circumstances,  Aldhelm  was  Bede’s 
direct  forerunner,  Bede  had  also  a notable  predecessor  in 
Isidore.  The  writings  of  the  Spanish  bishop  contributed 
substance  and  suggestions  of  plan  and  method  to  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  monk,  whose  works  embrace  practically  the  same 
series  of  topics  as  Isidore’s,  whose  intellectual  interests  also, 
and  attitude  toward  the  Church  Fathers,  appear  the  same. 
But  Bede  was  the  more  genial  personality,  and  could  not 
help  imbuing  his  compositions  with  something  from  his 
own  temperament.  Even  in  his  Commentaries  upon  the 
books  of  Scripture,  which  were  made  up  principally  of 
borrowed  allegorical  interpretations,  there  is  common  sense 
and  some  endeavour  to  present  the  actual  meaning  and 

1 On  Aldhelm  see  Ebert,  Allegemeine  Ges.  der  Lit.  des  Mittelalters ; and  Roger, 
L’Enseignemenl  des  lettres  classiques,  etc.,  p.  288  sqq.;  also  Leslie  Stephen  in  Diet. 
Nat.  Biog.,  and  R.  Ehwald,  “Aldhelm  von  Malmesbury,”  Konigl.  Akad.  zu  Erfurt, 
N.  F.  xxxiii.  (1907). 


i86 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


situation.3  But  he  disclaimed  originality,  as  he  says  in  the 
preface  to  his  Commentary  on  the  Hexaemeron,  addressed 
to  Bishop  Acca  of  Hexham  : 

“ Concerning  the  beginning  of  Genesis  where  the  creation  of 
the  world  is  described,  many  have  said  much,  and  have  left  to 
posterity  monuments  of  their  talents.  Among  these,  as  far  as  our 
feebleness  can  learn,  we  may  distinguish  Basil  of  Caesarea  (whom 
Eustathius  translated  from  Greek  to  Latin),  Ambrose  of  Milan, 
and  Augustine,  Bishop  of  Hippo.  Of  whom  the  first-named  in 
nine  books,  the  second  following  his  footprints  in  six  books,  the 
third  in  twelve  books  and  also  in  two  others  directed  against  the 
Manichaeans,  shed  floods  of  salutary  doctrine  for  their  readers; 
and  in  them  the  promise  of  the  Truth  was  fulfilled : ‘ Whoso 
believeth  in  me,  as  the  Scripture  saith,  out  of  his  belly  shall  flow 
rivers  of  living  water.  . . . ’ But  since  these  works  are  so  great 
that  only  the  rich  may  own  them,  and  so  profound  that  they  may 
be  fathomed  only  by  the  learned,  your  holiness  has  seen  fit  to  lay 
on  us  the  task  of  plucking  from  them  all,  as  from  the  sweetest 
wide-flowering  fields  of  paradise,  what  might  seem  to  meet  the 
needs  of  weaklings.”  2 

Bede  was  also  a Jovely  story-teller.  His  literary  charm 
and  power  appear  in  his  Life  of  St.  Cuthbert,  and  still  more 
in  his  ever-famous  Ecclesiastical  History  of  the  English 
People , so  warm  with  love  of  mankind,  and  presenting  so 
wonderful  a series  of  dramatic  stories  animate  with  vital 
motive  and  the  colour  of  incident  and  circumstance.  Mid- 
way between  the  spontaneous  genius  of  this  work  and  the 
copied  Scripture  Commentary,  stand  Bede’s  grammatical, 
metrical,  and  scientific  compositions,  compiled  with  studious 
zeal.  They  evince  a broad  interest  in  scholarship  and  in 
nature.  Still,  neither  material  nor  method  was  original. 
For  instance,  his  De  rerum  natura  took  its  plan  and  much 
of  its  substance  from  Isidore’s  work  of  the  same  name. 
Bede  has,  however,  inserted  further  matter  and  made  his 
work  less  of  a mere  shell  of  words  than  Isidore’s.  For  he 

1 This  is  noticeable  in  his  Commentary  on  the  Gospel  of  John,  Migne,  Pat.  Lat. 
92,  col.  633  sqq. 

2 Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  91,  col.  9.  In  another  prefatory  epistle  to  the  same  bishop 
Acca,  Bede  intimates  that  he  has  abridged  the  language  of  the  Fathers:  he  says  it  is 
inconvenient  always  to  put  their  names  in  the  text.  Instead  he  has  inscribed  the 
proper  initials  of  each  Father  in  the  margin  opposite  to  whatever  he  may  have  taken 
from  him  ( In  Lucae  Evangelium  expositio,  Migne  92,  col.  304). 


CHAP.  IX 


CONVERSION  OF  THE  NORTH 


187 


is  interested  in  connecting  natural  occurrences  with  their 
causes,  stating,  for  example,  that  the  tides  depend  on  the 
moon.1 2  In  this  work  as  in  his  other  opera  didascalica,  like 
the  De  temp  or  um  ratione  and  his  learned  De  arte  metrical  he 
shows  himself  a more  intelligent  student  than  his  Spanish  pre- 
decessor. Yet  he  drew  everything  from  some  written  source. 

One  need  not  wonder  at  the  voluminousness  of  Bede’s 
literary  productions.3  Many  of  the  writings  emanating 
from  monasteries  are  transcriptions  rather  than  compositions. 
The  circumstance  that  books,  i.e.  manuscripts,  were  rare  and 
costly  was  an  impelling  motive.  Isidore  and  Bede  made 
systematic  compilations  for  general  use.  They  and  their 
congeners  would  also  make  extracts  from  manuscripts,  of 
which  they  might  have  but  the  loan,  or  from  unique  codices 
in  order  to  preserve  the  contents.  Such  notes  or  excerpts 
might  have  the  value  of  a treatise,  and  might  be  preserved 
and  in  turn  transcribed  as  a distinct  work.  Yet  whether 
made  by  a Bede  or  by  a lesser  man,  they  represent  mainly 
the  labour  of  a copyist. 

Bede’s  writings  were  all  in  Latin,  and  were  intended 
for  the  instruction  of  monks.  They  played  a most  important 
role  in  the  transmission  of  learning,  sacred  and  profane,  in 
Latin  form.  For  its  still  more  popular  diffusion,  transla- 
tions into  the  vernacular  might  be  demanded.  Such  at  all 
events  were  made  of  Scripture;  and  perhaps  a century  and 
a half  after  Bede’s  death,  the  translation  of  edifying  Latin 
books  was  undertaken  by  the  best  of  Saxon  kings.  King 
Alfred  was  born  in  849  and  closed  his  eyes  in  901.  In  the 
midst  of  other  royal  labours  he  set  himself  the  task  of 
placing  before  his  people,  or  at  least  his  clergy,  Anglo- 
Saxon  versions  of  some  of  the  then  most  highly  regarded 
volumes  of  instruction.  The  wise  Pastoral  Care  of  Gregory 
the  Great;  his  Dialogues , less  wise  according  to  our  views; 
the  Histories  of  Orosius  4 and  Bede ; and  that  philosophic 
vade  mecum  of  the  Middle  Ages,  the  De  consolatione  philo - 

1 Migne  90,  col.  258 ; ibid.  col.  422.  I have  not  observed  this  statement  in  Isidore. 

2 All  of  these  are  in  t.  90  of  Migne. 

3 His  writings  fill  about  five  volumes  (90-95)  in  Migne’s  Patrol.  Latina.  A 
list  may  be  found  in  the  article  “ Bede  ” in  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography.  Beda 
der  Ehrwiirdige,  by  Karl  Werner  (Vienna,  1881),  is  a good  monograph. 

4 Ante,  p.  82  sqq. 


i88 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


sophiae  of  Boethius.  Of  these,  Alfred  translated  the 
Pastoral  Care  and  the  De  consolatione , also  Orosius;  the 
other  works  appear  to  have  been  translated  at  his  direction.1 
Alfred’s  translations  contain  his  own  reflections  and  other 
matter  not  in  the  originals.  In  rendering  Orosius,  he  re- 
wrote the  geographical  introduction,  inserted  a description 
of  Germany  and  accounts  of  northern  Europe  given  by  two 
of  his  Norse  liegemen,  Ohthere  and  Wulfstan.  The  alert- 
ness of  his  mind  is  shown  by  this  insertion  of  the  latest 
geographical  knowledge.  Other  and  more  personal  passages 
will  disclose  his  purpose,  and  illustrate  the  manner  in  which 
his  Christianized  intelligence  worked  upon  trains  of  thought 
suggested  perhaps  by  the  Latin  writing  before  him. 

Alfred’s  often-quoted  preface  to  Gregory’s  Pastoral  Care 
tells  his  reasons  for  undertaking  its  translation,  and  sets 
forth  the  condition  of  England.  He  speaks  of  the  “ wise 
men  there  formerly  were  throughout  England,  both  of 
sacred  and  secular  orders,”  and  of  their  zeal  in  learning  and 
teaching  and  serving  God ; and  how  foreigners  came  to  the 
land  in  search  of  wisdom  and  instruction.  But  “ when  I 
came  to  the  throne,”  so  general  was  the  decay  of  learning 
in  England  “ that  there  were  very  few  on  this  side  of  the 
Humber  who  could  understand  their  rituals  in  English,  or 
translate  a letter  from  Latin  into  English ; and  I believe 
there  were  not  many  beyond  the  Humber.  . . . Thanks  be 
to  God  Almighty  that  we  have  any  teachers  among  us  now.” 
Alfred  therefore  commands  the  bishop,  to  whom  he  is  now 
sending  the  copy,  to  disengage  himself  as  often  as  possible 
from  worldly  matters,  and  apply  the  Christian  wisdom 
God  has  given  him.  “ I remembered  also  how  I saw, 
before  it  had  been  all  ravaged  and  burnt,  how  the  churches 
throughout  the  whole  of  England  stood  filled  with  treasures 
and  books,  and  there  was  also  a great  multitude  of  God’s 
servants,  but  they  had  very  little  knowledge  of  books,  for 
they  could  not  understand  anything  of  them  because  they 

1 The  Works  of  King  Alfred  the  Great  are  translated  from  Anglo-Saxon  in  the 
Jubilee  edition  of  Giles  (2  vols.  London,  1858).  The  Pastoral  Care  and  the  Orosius 
are  translated  by  Henry  Sweet  in  the  publications  of  the  Early  English  Text  So- 
ciety. W.  J.  Sedgefield’s  translation  of  Alfred’s  version  of  the  Consolations  of  Boethius 
is  very  convenient  from  the  italicizing  of  the  portions  added  by  Alfred  to  Boethius’s 
original.  The  extracts  given  in  the  following  pages  have  been  taken  from  these  editions. 


CHAP.  IX 


CONVERSION  OF  THE  NORTH 


189 


were  not  written  in  their  own  language.”  It  therefore 
seemed  wise  to  me  “ to  translate  some  books  which  are 
most  needful  for  all  men  to  know,  into  the  language  which 
we  can  all  understand,  and  . . . that  all  the  youth  now  in 
England  of  free  men,  who  are  rich  enough  to  be  able  to 
devote  themselves  to  it,  be  set  to  learn  so  long  as  they  are 
not  fit  for  any  other  occupation,  until  that  they  are  well 
able  to  read  English  writing : and  let  those  be  afterwards 
taught  more  in  the  Latin  language  who  are  to  continue 
learning  and  be  promoted  to  a higher  rank.” 

In  the  Be  consolatione  of  Boethius,  the  antique  pagan 
thought,  softened  with  human  sympathy,  and  in  need  of 
such  comfort  and  assurance  as  was  offered  by  the  Faith, 
is  found  occupied  with  questions  (like  that  of  free-will) 
prominent  in  Christianity.  The  book  presented  medita- 
tions which  were  so  consonant  with  Christian  views  that  its 
Christian  readers  from  Alfred  to  Dante  mistook  them  for 
Christian  sentiments,  and  added  further  meanings  naturally 
occurring  to  the  Christian  soul.  Alfred’s  reflections  in  his 
version  of  the  De  consolatione  are  very  personal  to  Saxon 
Alfred  and  show  how  he  took  his  life  and  kingly  office : 

“ O Philosophy,  thou  knowest  that  I never  greatly  delighted 
in  covetousness  and  the  possession  of  earthly  power,  nor  longed 
for  this  authority” — so  far  Boethius,1  and  now  Alfred  himself: 
“ but  I desired  instruments  and  materials  to  carry  out  the  work 
I was  set  to  do,  which  was  that  I should  virtuously  and  fittingly 
administer  the  authority  committed  unto  me.  Now  no  man, 
as  thou  knowest,  can  get  full  play  for  his  natural  gifts,  nor  conduct 
and  administer  government,  unless  he  hath  fit  tools,  and  the  raw 
material  to  work  upon.  By  material  I mean  that  which  is 
necessary  to  the  exercise  of  natural  powers;  thus  a king’s  raw 
material  and  instruments  of  rule  are  a well-peopled  land,  and  he 
must  have  men  of  prayer,  men  of  war,  and  men  of  work.  As 
thou  knowest,  without  these  tools  no  king  may  display  his  special 
talent.  Further,  for  his  materials  he  must  have  means  of  support 
for  the  three  classes  above  spoken  of,  which  are  his  instruments; 
and  these  means  are  land  to  dwell  in,  gifts,  weapons,  meat,  ale, 

1 Boethius’s  words,  which  Alfred  here  paraphrases  and  supplements,  are  as 
follows:  “Turn  ego,  scis,  inquam,  ipsa  minimum  nobis  ambitionem  mortalium  re- 

rum fuisse  dominatam;  sed  materiam  gerendis  rebus  optavimus,  quo  ne  virtus  tacita 
consenesceret”  {De  consol,  phil.  ii.  prosa  7). 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


19O 

clothing,  and  what  else  soever  the  three  classes  need.  Without 
these  means  he  cannot  keep  his  tools  in  order,  and  without  these 
tools  he  cannot  perform  any  of  the  tasks  entrusted  to  him.  [I 
have  desired  material  for  the  exercise  of  government  that  my 
talents  and  my  power  might  not  be  forgotten  and  hidden  away1] 
for  every  good  gift  and  every  power  soon  groweth  old  and  is  no 
more  heard  of,  if  Wisdom  be  not  in  them.  Without  Wisdom 
no  faculty  can  be  fully  brought  out,  for  whatsoever  is  done  un- 
wisely can  never  be  accounted  as  skill.  To  be  brief,  I may  say 
that  it  has  ever  been  my  desire  to  live  honourably  while  I was 
alive,  and  after  my  death  to  leave  to  them  that  should  come  after 
me  my  memory  in  good  works.” 

The  last  sentence  needs  no  comment.  But  those  pre- 
ceding it  will  be  illuminated  by  another  passage  inserted 
by  Alfred : 

“ Therefore  it  is  that  a man  never  by  his  authority  attains  to 
virtue  and  excellence,  but  by  reason  of  his  virtue  and  excellence  he 
attains  to  authority  and  power.  No  man  is  better  for  his  power, 
but  for  his  skill  he  is  good,  if  he  is  good,  and  for  his  skill  he  is 
worthy  of  power,  if  he  is  worthy  of  it.  Study  Wisdom  then,  and, 
when  ye  have  learned  it,  contemn  it  not,  for  I tell  you  that  by  its 
means  ye  may  without  fail  attain  to  power,  yea,  even  though  not 
desiring  it.” 

Perhaps  from  the  teaching  of  his  own  life  Alfred  knew, 
as  well  as  Boethius,  the  toil  and  sadness  of  power : “ Though 
their  false  hope  and  imagination  lead  fools  to  believe  that 
power  and  wealth  are  the  highest  good,  yet  it  is  quite  other- 
wise.” And  again,  speaking  of  friendship,  he  says  that 
Nature  unites  friends  in  love,  “ but  by  means  of  these  worldly 
goods  and  the  wealth  of  this  life  we  oftener  make  foes  than 
friends,”  which  doubtless  Alfred  had  discovered,  as  well  as 
Marcus  Aurelius.  Perhaps  the  Saxon  king  knew  wherein 
lay  peace,  as  he  makes  Wisdom  say : “ When  I rise  aloft 
with  these  my  servants,  we  look  down  upon  the  storms  of 
this  world,  even  as  the  eagle  does  when  he  soars  in  stormy 
weather  above  the  clouds,  where  no  storm  can  harm  him.” 
The  king  was  thinking  of  man’s  peace  with  God.2 

1 The  substance  of  this  bracketed  clause  is  in  Boethius — the  last  words  quoted 
in  the  preceding  note. 

2 Towards  the  close  of  his  life  Alfred  gathered  some  thoughts  from  Augustine’s 
Soliloquies  and  from  other  writings,  with  which  he  mingled  reflections  of  his  own. 


CHAP,  IX 


CONVERSION  OF  THE  NORTH 


191 


III 

Christianity  came  to  the  cities  of  Provincia  and  the  chief 
Roman  colonies  of  Gaul  (Lyons,  Treves,  Cologne)  in  the 
course  of  the  original  dissemination  of  the  Faith.  There 
were  Roman,  Greek,  or  Syrian  Christians  in  these  towns 
before  the  end  of  the  second  century.  Early  Gallic  Chris- 
tianity spoke  Greek  and  Latin,  and  its  rather  slow  advance 
was  due  partly  to  the  tenacity  of  Celtic  speech  even  in  the 
cities;  while  outside  of  them  heathen  speech  and  practices 
were  scarcely  touched.  Through  Gaul  and  along  the  Rhine, 
the  country  in  the  main  continued  heathen  in  religion,  and 
Celtic  or  Germanic  in  speech,  during  the  fifth  century.1 
The  complete  Latinizing  of  Gaul  and  the  conversion  of  its 
rural  population  proceeded  from  the  urban  churches,  and 
from  the  labours  and  miracles  of  anchorites  and  monks. 
In  contrast  with  the  decay  of  the  municipal  governments, 
the  urban  churches  continued  living  institutions.  Their 
bishops  usually  were  men  of  energy.  The  episcopal  office 
was  elective,  yet  likely  to  remain  in  the  same  influential 
family,  and  the  bishop,  the  leading  man  in  the  town,  might 
be  its  virtual  ruler.  He  represented  Christianity  and  Latin 
culture,  and  when  Roman  officials  yielded  to  Teutonic 
conquerors,  the  bishop  was  left  as  the  spokesman  of  the 

He  called  the  book  Blossoms.  He  says  in  his  preface : “ I gathered  me  then 
staves  and  props,  and  bars,  and  helves  for  each  of  my  tools,  and  boughs ; and  for  each 
of  the  works  that  I could  work,  I took  the  fairest  trees,  so  far  as  I might  carry  them 
away.  Nor  did  I ever  bring  any  burden  without  longing  to  bring  home  the  whole 
wood,  if  that  might  be ; for  in  every  tree  I saw  something  of  which  I had  need  at  home. 
Wherefore  I exhort  every  one  who  is  strong,  and  has  many  wains,  that  he  direct  his 
steps  to  the  same  wood  where  I cut  the  props.  Let  him  there  get  him  others,  and 
load  his  wains  with  fair  twigs,  that  he  may  weave  thereof  many  a goodly  wain,  and  set 
up  many  a noble  house,  and  build  many  a pleasant  town,  and  dwell  therein  in  mirth 
and  ease,  both  winter  and  summer,  as  I could  never  do  hitherto.  But  He  who  taught 
me  to  love  that  wood,  He  may  cause  me  to  dwell  more  easily,  both  in  this  transitory 
dwelling  . . . and  also  in  the  eternal  home  which  He  has  promised  us”  (Trans- 
lation borrowed  from  The  Life  and  Time  of  Alfred  the  Great,  by  C.  Plummer,  Claren- 
don Press,  1902).  These  metaphors  represent  Alfred’s  way  of  putting  what  Isidore 
or  Bede  or  Alcuin  meant  when  they  spoke  in  their  prefaces  of  searching  through  the 
pantries  of  the  Fathers  or  culling  the  sweetest  flowers  from  the  patristic  meadows. 
See  e.g.  ante,  Chapter  V.  and  post,  Chapter  X. 

1 Far  into  the  Frankish  period  there  were  many  heathen  in  northern  Gaul  and 
along  the  Rhine:  Hauck,  Kirchengeschichte  Deutschlands,  I.  Kap.  i.  (second  edition, 

Leipzig,  1898).  Cf.  Vacandard,  “L’ldolatrie  en  Gauleau  VIeet  au  Vile  siecles,”  Rev. 
des  questions  historiques,  65  (1899),  424-454. 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


192 

Gallo- Roman  population.  Thus  the  Gallic  churches,  far 
from  succumbing  before  the  barbarian  invasions,  rescued 
and  appropriated  the  derelict  functions  of  government,  and 
emerged  aggrandized  from  the  political  and  racial  revolution. 
In  the  year  400  the  city  of  Treves  was  Latin  in  speech  and 
Roman  in  government;  in  the  year  500  the  Roman  govern- 
ment had  been  overthrown,  and  a German-speaking  popula- 
tion predominated  in  what  was  left  of  the  city,  but  the 
church  went  on  unchanged  in  constitution  and  in  language. 

There  was  constant  intercourse  between  Teutons  and 
Romans  along  the  northern  boundaries  of  the  Empire.  In 
the  Danube  regions  many  of  the  former  were  converted. 
The  Goths,  through  the  labours  of  Ulfilas  and  others  in  the 
fourth  century,  became  Arian  Christians ; their  conversion 
was  of  moment  to  themselves  and  others,  but  destiny  severed 
the  continuity  of  its  import  for  history.  In  the  provinces  of 
Rhaetia,  Vindelicia,  and  Noricum  there  were  Christians,  some 
of  them  Teutons,  as  early  as  the  time  of  Constantine.  For 
the  next  century,  when  disruption  of  the  Empire  was  in  full 
progress,  the  Life  of  St.  Severinus  by  Eugippius,  his  disciple, 
gives  the  picture.1  Bits  and  fragments  of  Roman  govern- 
ment endured ; letters  were  not  quite  quenched ; but 
Alemanni  and  Rugii  moved  as  they  would,  marauding, 
besieging,  and  destroying.  Everywhere  there  was  un- 
certainty and  confusion,  and  yet  civilized  Roman  provincials 
still  clung  to  a driven  life.  Through  this  mountain  land, 
the  monk  Severinus  went  here  and  there,  barefoot  even  in 
ice  and  snow,  austere,  commanding.  He  encouraged  the 
townspeople  to  maintain  decency  and  courage;  he  turned 
the  barbarians  from  ruthlessness.  Clear-seeing,  capable, 
his  energies  shielded  the  land.  He  was  an  ascetic  who  took 
nothing  for  himself,  and  won  men  to  the  Faith  by  this 
guarantee  of  disinterestedness.  So  he  shepherded  his 
harrowed  flocks,  and  more  than  once  averted  their  destruc- 
tion. But  his  arm  was  too  feeble;  after  his  death  even  his 
cell  was  plundered,  while  the  confusion  swept  on. 

Such  were  fifth-century  conditions  on  the  northern 
boundary  of  what  had  been  the  Empire,  conditions  amid 

1 Mon.  Germ.  hist.  Auctores  antiquissimi,  tom.  i.  Cf.  Ebert,  Ges.  der  Lit.  des 
Mittelalters,  i.  452  sqq. 


chap,  ix  CONVERSION  OF  THE  NORTH 


i93 


which  the  culture  and  doctrine  germane  to  Christianity  went 
down,  although  the  Faith  still  glimmered  here  and  there. 
Farther  to  the  west,  the  Burgundians  had  gained  a domicile 
in  a land  sparsely  tenanted  by  Roman  and  Catholic  pro- 
vincials. Here  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Rhine,  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Worms,  this  people  accepted  the  Christianity 
which  they  found.  Afterwards,  in  the  year  430,  their 
heathen  kin  on  the  right  bank  were  baptized  as  a people; 
for  they  hoped,  through  aid  from  fellow-Christians,  to  ward 
off  the  destruction  threatening  from  the  Huns.  Yet  five 
years  later  they  were  overthrown  by  those  savage  riders — 
an  overthrow  out  of  which  was  to  rise  the  N ibelungenlied . 
The  Burgundian  remnants  found  a new  home  by  the 
Rhone. 

The  Christianity  of  Burgundians  and  Goths  was  subject 
to  the  vicissitudes  of  their  fortunes.  The  permanent  con- 
version to  Catholicism  of  the  great  masses  of  the  Germans 
commenced  somewhat  later,  when  the  turmoil  of  fifth- 
century  migration  was  settling  into  contests  for  homes 
destined  to  prove  more  lasting.  Its  beginning  may  be  dated 
from  the  baptism  of  Clovis  as  a Catholic  on  Christmas  Day 
in  the  year  496.  His  retainers  followed  him  into  the  con- 
secrated water.  By  reason  of  the  king’s  genius  for  war  and 
politics,  this  event  was  the  beginning  of  the  final  triumph  of 
Catholicism.1 

The  baptism  of  Clovis  and  his  followers  was  typical  of 
early  Teutonic  conversions.  King  and  tribal  following  acted 
as  a unit.  Christ  gave  victory ; He  was  the  mightier  God : 
such  was  the  crude  form  of  the  motive.  Its  larger  scope  was 
grasped  by  the  far-seeing  king.  Believing  in  supernatural 
aid,  he  desired  it  from  the  mightiest  source,  which,  he  was 
persuaded,  was  the  Christian  God.  It  was  to  be  obtained 
by  such  homage  to  Christ  as  heretofore  the  king  had  paid 
to  Wuotan.  Any  doubt  as  to  the  sincerity  of  his  belief 
presupposes  a point  of  view  impossible  for  a fifth-century 
barbarian.  But  to  this  sincere  expectation  of  Christ’s  aid, 
to  be  gained  through  baptism,  Clovis  joined  careful  con- 
sideration of  the  political  situation.  Catholic  Christianity 
was  the  religion  of  the  Gallo-Roman  population  forming  the 


VOL.  1 


Cf.  ante,  Chapter  VI. 


O 


194 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


greater  part  of  the  Frankish  king’s  subjects.  He  knew  of 
Arian  peoples;  probably  attempts  had  been  made  to  draw 
him  to  their  side.  They  constituted  the  great  Teutonic 
powers  at  the  time ; for  Theodoric  was  the  monarch  of  Italy, 
and  Arian  Teutons  ruled  in  southern  France,  in  Spain,  and 
Africa.  Nevertheless,  it  was  of  paramount  importance  for 
the  establishment  of  his  kingdom  that  there  should  be  no 
schism  between  the  Franks  and  the  Gallo-Roman  people 
who  exceeded  them  in  number  and  in  wealth  and  culture. 
Catholic  influences  surrounded  Clovis ; Catholic  interests 
represented  the  wealth  and  prosperity  of  his  dominions,  and 
when  he  decided  to  be  baptized  he  did  not  waver  between 
the  Catholic  and  the  Arian  belief.  Thus  the  king  attached 
to  himself  the  civilized  population  of  his  realm.  A common 
Catholic  faith  quickly  obliterated  racial  antagonism  within 
its  boundaries  and  gained  him  the  support  of  Catholic  church 
and  people  in  the  kingdom  of  his  Arian  rivals. 

So  under  Clovis  and  his  successors  the  Gallic  Church 
became  the  Frankish  Church,  and  flourished  exceedingly. 
Tithes  were  paid  it,  and  gifts  were  made  by  princes  and 
nobles.  Its  lands  increased,  carrying  their  dependent 
population,  until  the  Church  became  the  largest  landholder 
in  the  Merovingian  realm.  It  was  governed  by  Roman  law, 
but  the  clergy  were  subject  to  the  penal  jurisdiction  of  the 
king.1  It  was  he  that  summoned  councils,  although  he  did 
not  vote  and  left  ecclesiastical  matters  to  the  bishops,  who 
were  his  liegemen  and  appointees.2  They  recognized  the 
king’s  virtually  unlimited  authority,  which  they  patterned 
on  the  absolute  power  of  the  Roman  Emperors  and  the 
prerogatives  of  David  and  Solomon.  In  fine,  the  Mero- 
vingian Church  was  a national  church,  subject  to  the  king. 
Until  the  seventh  century  it  was  quite  independent  of  the 
Bishop  of  Rome.3 

It  is  common  knowledge — especially  vivid  with  readers 


1 In  those  of  its  lands  which  were  granted  immunity  from  public  burdens,  the 
Church  gradually  acquired  a jurisdiction  by  reason  of  its  right  to  exact  penalties 
which  elsewhere  fell  to  the  king. 

2 The  synod  of  549  declared  (ineffectually)  for  the  election  of  bishops,  to  be  fol- 
lowed by  royal  confirmation. 

3Hauck,  Kirchenges.  Deutschlands,  Bd.  I.  Buch.  ii.  Kap.  ii. ; Moller,  Kirchenge- 
schichte,  Bd.  IT.  p.  52  sqq.  ( 2nd  ed.,  Leipzig,  1893). 


chap,  ix  CONVERSION  OF  THE  NORTH 


i95 


of  the  famous  Historia  Francorum  of  Gregory  of  Tours — 
that,  ethically  viewed,  the  conduct  of  the  Merovingian  house 
was  cruel,  treacherous,  and  abominable;  and  likewise  the 
conduct  of  their  vassals.  Frankish  kings  and  nobles  appear 
as  men  no  longer  bound  by  the  ethics  of  the  heathenism 
which  they  had  forsworn,  and  as  yet  untouched  by  the 
moral  precepts  of  the  Christian  code.  Not  Christianity, 
however,  but  contact  with  decadent  civilization,  and  rapid 
increase  of  power  and  wealth,  had  loosened  their  heathen 
standards.  Merovingian  history  leaves  a unique  impression 
of  a line  of  rulers  and  dependents  among  whom  mercy  and 
truth  and  chastity  were  unknown.  The  element  of  sixth- 
century  Christianity  which  the  Franks  made  their  own  were 
its  rites,  its  magic,  and  its  miracles,  and  its  expectation  of 
the  aid  of  a God  and  His  saints  duly  solicited.  Here  the 
customs  of  heathenism  were  a preparation,  or  themselves 
passed  into  Frankish  Christianity.  Nevertheless,  the  general 
character  of  Christian  observances — baptism,  the  mass, 
prayer,  the  sign  of  the  cross,  the  rites  at  marriage,  sickness, 
and  death — could  not  fail  to  impress  a certain  tone  and 
demeanour  upon  the  people,  and  impart  some  sense  of  human 
sinfulness.  The  general  conviction  that  patent  and  out- 
rageous crime  would  bring  divine  vengeance  gained  point 
and  power  from  the  terrific  doctrine  of  the  Day  of  Wrath, 
and  the  system  of  penances  imposed  by  the  clergy  proved 
an  excellent  discipline  with  these  rough  Christians.  Many 
bishops  and  priests  were  little  better  than  the  nobles,  yet 
the  Church  preserved  Christian  belief  and  did  something  to 
improve  morality.  Everywhere  the  monk  was  the  most 
striking  object-lesson,  with  his  austerities,  his  terror-stricken 
sense  of  sinfulness,  and  conviction  of  the  peril  of  the  world. 
No  martial,  grasping  bishop,  no  dissolute  and  treacherous 
priest  denied  that  the  monk’s  was  the  ideal  Christian  life; 
and  the  laity  stood  in  awe,  or  expectation,  of  the  wonder- 
working power  of  his  asceticism.  Indeed  monasticism  was 
becoming  popular,  and  the  Merovingian  period  witnessed 
the  foundation  of  numberless  cloisters. 

In  the  fifth  and  through  part  of  the  sixth  century  the 
Gallic  monastery  of  Lerins,  on  an  island  in  the  Mediterranean, 
near  Frejus,  was  a chief  source  of  ascetic  and  Christian 


196 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


influence  for  Gaul.  Its  monks  took  their  precepts  from 
Syria  and  Egypt,  and  some  of  the  zeal  of  St.  Martin  of 
Tours  had  fallen  on  their  shoulders.  As  the  energy  of  this 
community  declined,  Columban’s  monastery  at  Luxeuil 
succeeded  to  the  work.  The  example  of  Columbanus,  his 
precepts  and  severe  monastic  discipline,  proved  a source  of 
ascetic  and  missionary  zeal.  With  him  or  following  in  his 
steps  came  other  Irishmen ; and  heathen  German  lands  soon 
looked  upon  the  walls  of  many  an  Irish  monastery.  But 
Columbanus  failed,  and  all  the  Irish  failed,  in  obedience, 
order,  and  effective  organization.  His  own  monastic  regula , 
with  all  its  rigour,  contained  no  provisions  for  the  govern- 
ment of  the  monasteries.  Without  due  ordering,  bands  of 
monks  dwelling  in  heathen  communities  would  waver  in  their 
practices  and  even  show  a lack  of  doctrinal  stability.  Sooner 
or  later  they  were  certain  to  become  confused  in  habit  and 
contaminated  with  the  manners  of  the  surrounding  people. 
These  Irish  monasteries  omitted  to  educate  a native  priest- 
hood to  perpetuate  their  Christian  teaching.  The  best  of 
them,  St.  Gall  (founded  by  Columbanus’s  disciple  Gallus), 
might  be  a citadel  of  culture,  and  convert  the  people  about 
it,  through  the  talents  and  character  of  its  founder  and  his 
successors.  But  other  monasteries,  farther  to  the  east,  were 
tainted  with  heathen  practices.  In  fine,  it  was  not  for  the 
Irish  to  convert  the  great  heathen  German  land,  or  effect  a 
lasting  reform  of  existing  churches  there  or  in  Gaul. 

The  labours  of  Anglo-Saxons  were  fraught  with  more 
enduring  results.  Through  their  abilities  and  zeal,  their 
faculty  of  organization  and  capacity  of  submitting  to 
authority,  through  their  consequent  harmony  with  Rome 
and  the  support  given  them  by  the  Frankish  monarchy, 
these  Anglo-Saxons  converted  many  German  tribes,  estab- 
lished permanent  churches  among  them,  reorganized  the 
heterogeneous  Christianity  which  they  found  in  certain 
German  lands,  and  were  a moving  factor  in  the  reform  of  the 
Frankish  Church.  The  most  striking  features  of  their  work 
on  the  Continent  were  diocesan  organization,  the  training  of 
a native  clergy,  the  establishment  of  monasteries  under  the 
Benedictine  constitution,  union  with  Rome,  obedience  to 
her  commands,  strenuous  conformity  to  her  law,  and  in- 


chap,  ix  CONVERSION  OF  THE  NORTH  197 

sistence  on  like  conformity  in  others.  Their  presentation 
of  Christianity  was  orthodox,  regular,  and  authoritative. 

Some  of  these  features  appear  in  the  work  of  the  Saxon 
Willibrord  among  the  Frisians,  but  are  more  largely  illus- 
trated in  the  career  of  St.  Boniface- Winfried.  Willibrord 
moved  under  the  authority  of  Rome;  the  varying  fortunes 
of  his  labours  were  connected  with  the  enterprises  of  Pippin 
of  Heristal,  the  father  of  Charles  Martel.  They  advanced 
with  the  power  of  that  Frankish  potentate.  But  after  his 
death,  during  the  strife  between  Neustria  and  Austrasia,  the 
heathen  Frisian  king  Radbod  drove  back  Christianity  as 
he  enlarged  his  dominion  at  the  expense  of  the  divided 
Franks.  Later,  Charles  Martel  conquered  him,  and  the 
Frankish  power  reached  (718)  to  the  Zuyder  Zee.  Under 
its  protection  Willibrord  at  last  founded  the  bishopric  of 
Utrecht  (734).  He  succeeded  in  educating  a native  clergy; 
and  his  labours  had  lasting  result  among  the  Frisians  who 
were  subject  to  the  Franks,  but  not  among  the  free  Frisians 
and  the  Danes. 

Evidently  there  was  no  sharp  geographical  boundary 
between  Christianity  and  heathendom.  Throughout  broad 
territories,  Christian  and  heathen  practices  mingled.  This 
was  true  of  the  Frisian  land.  It  was  true  in  greater  range 
and  complexity  of  the  still  wider  fields  of  Boniface’s  career. 
This  able  man  surrendered  his  high  station  in  his  native 
Wessex  in  order  to  serve  Christ  more  perfectly  as  a mission- 
ary monk  among  the  heathen.  He  went  first  to  Frisia 
and  worked  with  Willibrord,  yet  refused  to  be  his  bishop- 
coadjutor  and  successor,  because  planning  to  carry  Chris- 
tianity into  Germany. 

His  life  strikingly  exemplifies  Anglo-Saxon  faculties 
working  under  the  directing  power  of  Rome  among  heathen 
and  partly  Christian  peoples.  On  his  first  visit  to  Rome  he 
became  imbued  with  the  principles,  and  learned  the  ritual, 
of  the  Roman  Church.  He  returned  to  enter  into  relations 
with  Charles  Martel,  and  to  labour  in  Hesse  and  Thuringia, 
and  again  with  Willibrord  in  Frisia.  Not  long  afterwards, 
at  his  own  solicitation,  Gregory  II.  called  him  back  to 
Rome  (722),  where  he  fed  his  passion  for  punctilious  con- 
formity by  binding  himself  formally  to  obey  the  Pope, 


198 


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BOOK  I 


follow  the  practices  of  the  Roman  Church,  and  have  no 
fellowship  with  bishops  whose  ways  conflicted  with  them. 
Gregory  made  him  bishop  over  Thuringia  and  Hesse,  and 
sent  him  back  there  to  reform  Christian  and  heathen  com- 
munities. Thus  Gregory  created  a bishop  within  the  bounds 
of  the  Frankish  kingdom — an  unprecedented  act.  Never- 
theless, Charles,  to  whom  Boniface  came  with  a letter  from 
Gregory,  received  him  favourably  and  furnished  him  with 
a safe  conduct,  only  exacting  a recognition  of  his  own 
authority. 

Boniface  set  forth  upon  his  mission.  In  Hesse  he  cut 
down  the  ancient  heathen  oak,  and  made  a chapel  of  its 
timber;  he  preached  and  he  organized — the  land  was  not 
altogether  heathen.  Then  he  proceeded  to  Thuringia. 
That  also  was  a partly  Christian  land ; many  Irish-Scottish 
preachers  were  labouring  or  dwelling  there.  Boniface  set 
his  face  against  their  irregularities  as  firmly  as  against 
heathenism.  Again  he  dominated  and  reorganized,  yet 
continued  unfailing  in  energetic  preaching  to  the  heathen. 
Gregory  watched  closely  and  zealously  co-operated. 

On  the  death  of  the  second  Gregory  in  731,  the  third 
Gregory  succeeded  to  the  papacy  and  continued  his  pre- 
decessor’s support  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  apostle,  making  him 
archbishop  with  authority  to  ordain  bishops.  Many  Anglo- 
Saxons,  both  men  and  holy  women,  came  to  aid  their 
countryman,  and  brought  their  education  and  their  noble 
views  of  life  to  form  centres  of  Christian  culture  in  the 
German  lands.  Cloisters  for  nuns,  cloisters  for  monks  were 
founded.  The  year  744  witnessed  the  foundation  of  Fulda 
by  Sturm  under  the  direction  of  Boniface,  and  destined  to 
be  the  very  apple  of  his  eye  and  the  monastic  model  for 
Germany.  It  was  placed  under  the  authority  of  Rome,  with 
the  consent  of  Pippin,  who  then  ruled.  The  reorganization 
rather  than  the  conversion  of  Bavaria  was  Boniface’s  next 
achievement.  The  land  long  before  had  been  partially 
Romanized,  and  now  was  nominally  Christian.  Here  again 
Boniface  acted  as  representative  of  the  Pope,  and  not  of 
Charles,  although  Bavaria  was  part  of  the  Frankish  empire. 

The  year  738  brought  Boniface  to  Rome  for  the  third 
time.  He  was  now  yearning  to  leave  the  fields  already 


chap,  ix  CONVERSION  OF  THE  NORTH 


199 


tilled,  and  go  as  missionary  to  the  heathen  Saxons.  But 
Gregory  sent  him  back  to  complete  the  reorganization  of 
the  Bavarian  Church,  and  to  this  large  field  of  action  he 
added  also  Alemannia  with  its  diocesan  centre  at  Speyer. 
Here  he  came  in  conflict  with  Frankish  bishops,  firm  in  their 
secular  irregularities.  Yet  again  he  prevailed,  reorganized 
the  churches,  and  placed  them  under  the  authority  of  Rome. 
Evidently  the  two  Gregories  had  in  large  measure  turned 
the  energies  of  Boniface  from  the  mission-field  to  the  labours 
of  reform. 

On  the  death  of  Charles  in  741  (and  in  the  same  year 
died  Gregory,  to  be  succeeded  by  the  lukewarm  Zacharias) 
his  sons  Carloman  and  Pippin  succeeded  to  his  power.  The 
following  year  Carloman  in  German-speaking  Austrasia  called 
a council  of  his  church  {Concilium  Germanicum  primum) 
under  the  primacy  of  Boniface.  Its  decrees  confirmed  the 
reforms  for  which  the  latter  had  struggled  : 

“ We  Carloman,  Duke  and  Prince  of  the  Franks,  in  the  year  742 
of  the  Incarnation,  on  the  21st  of  April,  upon  the  advice  of  the 
servants  of  God,  the  bishops  and  priests  of  our  realm,  have 
assembled  them  to  take  counsel  how  God’s  law  and  the  Church’s 
discipline  (fallen  to  ruin  under  former  princes)  may  be  restored, 
and  the  Christian  folk  led  to  salvation,  instead  of  perishing 
deceived  by  false  priests.  We  have  set  up  bishops  in  the  cities, 
and  have  set  over  them  as  archbishop  Bonifatius,  the  legate  of 
St.  Peter.’’ 

The  council  decreed  that  yearly  synods  should  be  held, 
that  the  possessions  taken  from  the  Church  should  be  re- 
stored, and  the  false  priests  deprived  of  their  emoluments 
and  forced  to  do  penance.  The  clergy  were  forbidden  to 
bear  arms,  go  to  war,  or  hunt.  Every  priest  should  give 
yearly  account  of  his  stewardship  to  his  bishop.  Bishops, 
supported  by  the  count  in  the  diocese,  should  suppress 
heathen  practices.  Punishments  were  set  for  the  fleshly 
sins  of  monks  and  nuns  and  clergy,  and  for  the  priestly 
offences  of  wearing  secular  garb  or  harbouring  women.  The 
Benedictine  rule  was  appointed  for  monasteries.  It  was 
easier  to  make  these  decrees  than  carry  them  out  against 
the  opposition  of  such  martial  bishops  as  those  of  Mainz 


200 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


and  Treves,  whose  support  was  necessary  to  Carloman ’s 
government;  and  military  conditions  rendered  the  restora- 
tion of  Church  lands  impracticable.  Yet  the  word  was 
spoken,  and  something  was  done. 

The  next  year  in  Neustria  Pippin  instituted  like  reforms. 
He  was  aided  by  Boniface,  although  the  latter  held  no 
ecclesiastical  office  there.  In  747  Carloman  abdicated  and 
retired  to  a monastery ; 1 and  Pippin  became  sole  ruler,  and 
at  last  formally  king,  anointed  by  Boniface  under  the 
direction  of  the  Pope  in  752.  After  this,  Boniface,  with- 
drawing from  the  direction  of  the  Church,  turned  once  more 
to  satisfy  his  heart’s  desire  by  going  on  a mission  among 
the  heathen  Frisians,  where  he  crowned  a great  life  with  a 
martyr’s  death. 

Thus  authoritatively,  supported  by  Rome  and  the 
Frankish  monarchy,  Christianity  was  presented  to  the 
Germans.  It  carried  suggestions  of  a better  order  and 
some  knowledge  of  Latin  letters.  The  extension  of  Roman 
Catholic  Christianity  was  the  aim  of  Boniface  first  and  last 
and  always.  But  a Latin  education  was  needed  by  the 
clergy  to  enable  them  to  understand  and  set  forth  this  some- 
what elaborated  and  learned  scheme  of  salvation.  Boniface 
and  his  coadjutors  had  no  aversion  to  the  literary  means  by 
which  a serviceable  Latin  knowledge  was  to  be  obtained, 
and  their  missionary  and  reorganizing  labours  necessarily 
worked  some  diffusion  of  Latinity. 

1 Carloman  went  at  first  to  Rome,  and  built  a monastery,  in  which  he  lived  for  a 
while.  But  here  his  contemptum  regni  terreni  brought  him  more  renown  than  his  monk’s 
soul  could  endure.  So,  with  a single  companion,  he  fled,  and  came  unmarked  and  in 
abject  guise  to  Monte  Cassino.  He  announced  himself  as  a murderer  seeking  to  do 
penance,  and  was  received  on  probation.  At  the  end  of  a year  he  took  the  vows  of 
a monk.  It  happened  that  he  was  put  to  help  in  the  kitchen,  where  he  worked  humbly 
but  none  too  dexterously,  and  was  chidden  and  struck  by  the  cook  for  his  clumsiness. 
At  which  he  said  with  placid  countenance,  “May  the  Lord  forgive  thee,  brother,  and 
Carloman.”  This  occurring  for  the  third  time,  his  follower  fell  on  the  cook  and  beat 
him.  When  the  uproar  had  subsided,  and  an  investigation  was  called  before  the 
brethren,  the  follower  said,  in  explanation,  that  he  could  not  hold  back,  seeing 
the  vilest  of  the  vile  strike  the  noblest  of  all.  The  brethren  seemed  contemptuous, 
till  the  follower  proclaimed  that  this  monk  was  Carloman,  once  King  of  the  Franks, 
who  had  relinquished  his  kingdom  for  the  love  of  Christ.  At  this  the  terrified  monks 
rose  from  their  seats  and  flung  themselves  at  Carloman’s  feet,  imploring  pardon,  and 
pleading  their  ignorance.  But  Carloman,  rolling  on  the  ground  before  them  (in 
terram  provolutus)  denied  it  all  with  tears,  and  said  he  was  not  Carloman,  but  a 
common  murderer.  Nevertheless,  thenceforth,  recognized  by  all,  he  was  treated 
with  great  reverence  (Regino,  Chronicon,  Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  132,  col.  45). 


chap,  ix  CONVERSION  OF  THE  NORTH 


201 


The  Frankish  secular  power,  which  had  supported 
Boniface,  advanced  to  violent  action  when  Charlemagne’s 
sword  bloodily  constrained  the  Saxons  to  accept  his  rule 
and  Christianity,  the  two  inseverable  objects  which  he 
tirelessly  pursued.  Nor  could  this  ruler  stay  his  mighty 
hand  from  the  government  of  the  Church  within  his  realm. 
With  his  power  to  appoint  bishops,  he  might,  if  he  chose, 
control  its  councils.  But  apparently  he  chose  to  rule  the 
Church  directly ; and  his,  and  his  predecessors’  and 
successors’  Capitularies  (rather  than  Conciliar  decrees) 
contain  the  chief  ecclesiastical  legislation  for  the  Frankish 
realm. 

In  its  temporalities  and  secular  action  the  Church  was 
the  greatest  and  richest  of  all  subjects;  it  possessed  the 
rights  of  lay  vassals  and  was  affected  with  like  duties.1  But 
in  ritual,  doctrine,  language  and  affiliation,  the  Frankish 
Church  made  part  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church.  It  used 
the  Roman  liturgy  and  the  Latin  tongue.  The  ordering  of 
the  clergy  was  Roman,  and  the  regulation  of  the  monasteries 
was  Romanized  by  the  adoption  of  the  Benedictine  regula. 
Within  the  Church  Rome  had  triumphed.  Prelates  were 
vassals  of  the  king  who  had  now  become  Emperor ; and  the 
great  corporate  Church  was  subject  to  him.  Nevertheless, 
this  great  corporate  institution  was  Roman  rather  than 
Gallic  or  Frankish  or  German.  It  was  Teuton  only  in  those 
elements  which  represented  ecclesiastical  abuses,  for  example, 
the  remaining  irregularities  of  various  kinds,  the  lay  and 
martial  habits  of  prelates,  and  even  their  appointment  by 
the  monarch.  These  were  the  elements  which  the  Church  in 
its  logical  Roman  evolution  was  to  eliminate.  Charlemagne 
himself,  as  well  as  his  lesser  successors,  strove  just  as  zealously 
to  bring  the  people  into  obedience  to  the  Church  as  into, 
obedience  to  the  lay  rulers.  While  the  Carolingian  rule  was 
strong,  its  power  was  exerted  on  behalf  of  ecclesiastical 

1 For  example,  immunity  (from  governmental  taxation  and  visitation)  might 
attach  to  the  lands  of  bishops  and  abbots,  as  it  might  to  the  lands  of  a lay  potentate. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  lands  of  bishops  and  abbots  owed  the  Government  such  tem- 
poral aid  in  war  and  peace  as  would  have  attached  to  them  in  the  hands  of  laymen. 
Such  dignitaries  had  high  secular  rank.  The  king  did  not  interfere  with  the  appoint- 
ment and  control  of  the  lower  clergy  by  their  lords,  the  bishops  and  abbots,  any  more 
than  he  did  with  the  domestic  or  administrative  appointments  of  great  lay  function- 
aries within  their  households  or  jurisdictions. 


202 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  I 


authority  and  discipline ; and  when  the  royal  administration 
weakened  after  Charlemagne’s  death,  the  Church  was  not 
slow  to  revolt  against  its  temporal  subjection  to  the  royal 
power. 

But  the  Church,  in  spite  of  Latin  and  Roman  affinities, 
strove  also  to  come  near  the  German  peoples  and  speak  to 
them  in  their  own  tongues.  This  is  borne  witness  to  by 
the  many  translations  from  Latin  into  Frankish,  Saxon, 
or  Alemannish  dialects,  made  by  the  clergy.  Christianity 
deeply  affected  the  German  language.  Many  of  its  words 
received  German  form,  and  the  new  thoughts  forced  old 
terms  to  take  on  novel  and  more  spiritual  meanings.  To  be 
sure,  these  German  dialects  were  there  before  Christianity 
came,  and  the  capacities  of  the  Germans  acquired  in  heathen 
times  are  attested  by  the  sufficiency  of  their  language  to 
express  Christian  thought.  Likewise  the  German  character 
was  there,  and  proved  its  range  and  quality  by  the  very 
transformation  of  which  it  showed  itself  capable  under 
Christianity.  And  just  as  Christianity  was  given  expression 
in  the  German  language,  which  retained  many  of  its  former 
qualities,  so  many  fundamental  traits  of  German  character 
remained  in  the  converted  people.  Yet  so  earnestly  did  the 
Germans  turn  to  Christianity,  and  such  draughts  of  its  spirit 
did  they  draw  into  their  nature,  that  the  early  Germanic 
re-expression  of  it  is  sincere,  heartfelt,  and  moving,  and 
illumined  with  understanding  of  the  Faith. 

These  qualities  may  be  observed  in  the  series  of  Christian 
documents  in  the  German  tongues  commencing  in  the  first 
years  of  Charlemagne’s  reign.  They  consist  of  baptismal 
confessions  of  belief,  the  first  of  which  (cir.  769)  was  com- 
posed for  heathen  Saxons  just  converted  by  the  sword,  and 
of  catechisms  presenting  the  elements  of  Christian  precept 
and  dogma.  The  earliest  of  the  latter  (cir.  789),  coming 
from  the  monastery  at  Weissenburg  in  Alsace,  contains 
the  Lord’s  Prayer,  with  the  explanations,  an  enumeration  of 
the  deadly  sins  according  to  the  fifth  chapter  of  the  Epistle 
to  the  Galatians,  the  Apostles’  Creed  and  the  Athanasian. 
Further,  one  finds  among  these  documents  a translation  of 
the  De  fide  Catholica  of  Isidore  of  Seville,  and  of  the  Bene- 
dictine regula;  also  Charlemagne’s  Exhortatio  ad  plebem 


chap,  ix  CONVERSION  OF  THE  NORTH 


203 


Christianam,  which  was  an  admonition  to  the  people  to  learn 
the  Creed  and  the  Lord’s  Prayer.  There  are  likewise  general 
confessions  of  sins.  Less  dependent  on  a Latin  original  is 
the  so-called  Muspilli,  a spirited  description  in  alliterative 
verse  of  the  last  t’mes  and  the  Day  of  Judgment. 

German  qualities,  however,  express  themselves  more  fully 
in  two  Gospel  versions,  the  first  the  famous  Saxon  Heliand 
(cir.  835),  (which  follows  Tatian’s  “ Harmony”);  the  second 
the  somewhat  later  Evangelienbuch  of  Otfrid  the  Frank. 
They  were  both  composed  in  alliterative  verse,  though  Otfrid 
also  made  use  of  rhyme.1  The  martial,  Teutonic  ring  of  the 
former  is  well  known.  Christ  is  the  king,  the  disciples  are 
his  thanes  whose  duty  is  to  stand  by  their  lord  to  the  death ; 
he  rewards  them  with  the  promised  riches  of  heaven,  excel- 
ling the  earthly  goods  bestowed  by  other  kings.  In  the 
“ betrayal”  they  close  around  their  Lord,  saying:  “Were 
it  thy  will,  mighty  Lord  of  ours,  that  we  should  set  upon 
them  with  the  spear,  gladly  would  we  strike  and  die  for  our 
Lord.”  Out  broke  the  wrath  of  the  “ready  swordsman” 
(snel  suerdthegan )2  Simon  Peter;  he  could  not  speak  for 
anguish  to  think  that  his  lord  should  be  bound.  Angrily 
strode  the  bold  knight  before  his  lord,  drew  his  weapon,  the 
sword  by  his  side,  and  smote  the  nearest  foe  with  might  of 
hands.  Before  his  fury  and  the  spurting  blood  the  people 
fled  fearing  the  sword’s  bite. 

The  Heliand  has  also  gentler  qualities,  as  when  it  calls 
the  infant  Christ  the  fridubarn  (peace-child),  and  pictures 
Mary  watching  over  her  “little  man.”  But  German  love  of 
wife  and  child  and  home  speak  more  clearly  in  Otfrid ’s  book. 
Although  a learned  monk,  his  pride  of  Frankish  race  rings 
in  his  oft-quoted  reasons  for  writing  theotisce , i.e.  in  German : 
why  shall  not  the  Franks  sing  God’s  praise  in  Frankish 
tongue?  Forcible  and  logical  it  is,  although  not  bound  by 

1 There  are  numerous  editions  of  the  Heliand:  by  Sievers  (1878),  by  Ruckert 
(1876).  Very  complete  is  Heyne’s  third  edition  (Paderborn,  1883).  Portions  of  it 
are  given,  with  modern  German  interlinear  translation,  in  Piper’s  Die  diteste  Literatur 
(Deutsche  Nat.  Lit.),  pp.  164-186.  Otfrid’s  book  is  elaborately  edited  by  Piper  (2nd 
edition  with  notes  and  glossary,  Freiburg  i.  B.,  1882).  See  also  Piper’s  Die  dlteste 
Literatur , where  portions  of  the  work  are  given  with  modern  German  interlinear  trans- 
lation. Compare  Ebert,  Literatur  des  Mittelalters,  iii.  100-117. 

2 The  Heliand  uses  the  epic  phrases  of  popular  poetry ; they  reappear  three 
centuries  later  in  the  Nibelungenlied. 


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BOOK  I 


grammar’s  rules.  Yes,  why  should  the  Franks  be  incapable? 
they  are  brave  as  Romans  or  Greeks ; they  are  as  good  in 
field  and  wood ; wide  power  is  theirs,  and  ready  are  they 
with  the  sword.  They  are  rich,  and  possess  a good  land, 
with  honour.  They  can  guard  their  own ; what  people  is 
their  equal  in  battle?  Diligent  are  they  also  in  the  Word 
of  God.  Otfrid  is  quite  moving  in  his  sympathetic  sense  of 
the  sorrow  of  the  Last  Judgment,  when  the  mother  from 
child  shall  be  parted,  the  father  from  son,  the  lord  from  his 
faithful  thane,  friend  from  friend — all  human  kind.  Deep 
is  the  mystic  love  and  yearning  with  which  he  realizes 
Heaven  as  one’s  own  land : there  is  life  without  death,  light 
without  darkness,  the  angels  and  eternal  bliss.  We  have 
left  it — that  must  we  bewail  always,  banished  to  a strange 
land,  poor  misled  orphans.  The  antithesis  between  the 
fremidemo  lant  ( fremdes  land)  of  earth,  and  the  heimat , the 
eigan  lant  of  heaven,  which  is  home,  real  home,  is  the  key- 
note strongly  felt  and  movingly  expressed. 


BOOK  II 

THE  EARLY  MIDDLE  AGES 


205 


CHAPTER  X 

CAROLINGIAN  PERIOD  : THE  FIRST  STAGE  IN  THE 

APPROPRIATION  OF  THE  PATRISTIC  AND  ANTIQUE 

With  the  conversion  of  Teuton  peoples  and  their  intro- 
duction to  the  Latin  culture  accompanying  the  new  religion, 
the  factors  of  mediaeval  development  came  at  last  into  con- 
junction. The  mediaeval  development  was  to  issue  from 
their  combined  action,  rather  than  from  the  singular  nature 
of  any  one  of  them.1  Taking  up  the  introductory  theme 
concerning  the  meeting  of  these  forces,  we  followed  the 
Latinizing  of  the  West  resulting  from  the  expansion  of  the 
Roman  Republic,  which  represents  the  political  and  social 
preparation  of  the  field.  Then  we  considered  the  antique 
pagan  gospel  of  philosophy  and  letters,  which  had  quickened 
this  Latin  civilization  and  was  to  form  the  spiritual  environ- 
ment of  patristic  Christianity.  Next  in  order  we  observed 
the  intellectual  interests  of  the  Latin  Fathers,  and  then 
turned  to  the  great  Latin  transmitters  of  the  somewhat 
amalgamated  antique  and  patristic  material — Boethius, 
Cassiodorus,  Gregory  the  Great,  and  Isidore  of  Seville — 
who  gathered  what  they  might,  and  did  much  to  reduce 
the  same  to  decadent  forms,  suited  to  the  barbaric  under- 
standing. Then  the  course  of  the  barbaric  disruption  of 
the  Empire  was  reviewed ; and  this  led  to  a consideration 
of  the  qualities  and  circumstances  of  the  Celts  and  Teutons, 
both  those  who  to  all  appearances  had  been  Latinized,  and 
those  who  took  active  part  in  the  barbarization  and  dis- 
ruption of  the  Roman  order.  And  finally  we  closed  these 

1 Ante,  Chapter  I. 

207 


208 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


introductory,  though  essential,  chapters  by  tracing  the 
ways  in  which  Christianity,  with  the  now  humbled  and 
degraded  antique  culture,  was  presented  to  this  renewed 
and  largely  Teutonic  barbarism. 

Having  now  reached  the  epoch  of  conjunction  of  the 
various  elements  of  the  mediaeval  evolution,  it  lies  before  us 
to  consider  the  first  stage  in  the  action  of  true  mediaeval 
conditions  upon  the  two  chief  spiritual  forces,  the  first  stage, 
in  other  words,  of  the  mediaeval  appropriation  of  the 
patristic  and  antique  material.  The  period  is  what  is 
called  Carlo vingian  or  Carolingian,  after  the  great  ruler 
Charlemagne.  Intellectually  considered,  it  may  be  said 
to  have  begun  when  Charles  palpably  evinced  his  interest 
in  sacred  and  liberal  studies  by  calling  Alcuin  and  other 
scholars  to  his  Court  about  the  year  781.  Let  us  note  the 
political  and  social  situation. 

The  Merovingian  kingdom  created  by  Clovis  and  his 
house  has  been  spoken  of.1  One  may  properly  refer  to  it 
in  the  singular,  although  frequently,  instead  of  one,  there 
were  several  kingdoms,  since  upon  the  death  of  a Mero- 
vingian monarch  his  realm  was  divided  among  his  sons. 
But  no  true  son  of  the  house  could  leave  the  others  un- 
conquered or  unmurdered ; and  therefore  if  the  Merovingian 
kingdom  constantly  was  divided,  it  also  tended  to  coalesce 
again,  coerced  to  unity.  Constituted  both  of  Roman  and 
Teutonic  elements,  it  operated  as  a mediating  power  between 
Latin  Christendom  and  barbaric  heathendom.  Its  energies 
were  great,  and  were  not  waning  when  its  royal  house  was 
passing  into  insignificance  before  the  power  of  the  nobles 
and  the  chief  personage  among  them  who  had  become  the 
major  domus  (“ Mayor  of  the  palace”)  and  virtual  ruler. 
Moreover,  experience,  contact  with  Latin  civilization, 
membership  in  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  were  inform- 
ing the  Merovingian  energies.  They  were  becoming  just  a 
little  less  barbarous  and  a little  more  instructed ; in  fine, 
were  changing  from  Merovingian  to  Carolingian. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  seventh  century,  Pippin,  called 
“of  Heristal,”  ruled  as  major  domus  (as  one  or  more  of  his 
ancestors  before  him)  in  Austrasia,  the  eastern  Frankish 

1 Ante , Chapter  VI. 


CHAP.  X 


C AROLIN GIAN  PERIOD 


209 


kingdom.  Many  were  his  wars,  especially  with  the  Neustrian 
or  western  Frankish  kingdom,  under  its  major  domus, 
Ebroin.  This  somewhat  unconquerable  man  at  last  was 
murdered,  and  one  of  the  two  Merovingian  kings  being 
murdered  likewise,  Pippin  about  the  year  688  became 
princeps  regiminis  ac  major  domus  for  the  now  united  realm. 
From  this  date  the  Merovingians  are  but  shadow  kings, 
whose  names  are  not  worth  recording.  Pippin’s  rule  marks 
the  advent  of  his  house  to  virtual  sovereignty,  and  also  the 
passing  of  the  preponderance  of  power  from  Neustria  to 
Austrasia.  These  two  facts  became  clear  after  Pippin’s 
death  (714),  when  his  redoubtable  son  Charles  in  a five 
years’  struggle  against  great  odds  made  himself  sole  major 
domus , and  with  his  Austrasians  overwhelmed  the  Neustrian 
army.  Thenceforth  this  Charles,  called  Martel  the  Ham- 
mer, mightily  prevailed,  smiting  Saxons,  Bavarians,  and 
Alemanni,  and,  after  much  warfare  in  the  south  with 
Saracens,  at  last  vindicated  the  Cross  against  the  Crescent 
at  Tours  in  732.  Nine  years  longer  he  was  to  reign,  in- 
creasing his  power  to  the  end,  and  supporting  the  establish- 
ment of  Catholicism  in  Frisia,  by  the  Anglo-Saxon 
Willibrord,  and  in  heathen  German  lands  by  St.  Boniface.1 
He  died  in  741,  dividing  what  virtually  was  his  realm 
between  his  sons  Carloman  and  Pippin : the  former  receiving 
Austrasia,  Alemannia,  Thuringia ; the  latter,  Neustria, 
Burgundy,  Provence. 

These  two  sons  valiantly  took  up  their  task,  reforming 
the  Church  under  the  inspiration  of  Boniface,  and  ruling 
their  domains  without  conflict  with  each  other  until  747, 
when  Carloman  retired  and  became  a monk,  leaving  the 
entire  realm  to  Pippin.  The  latter  in  751  at  Soissons, 
with  universal  approval  and  the  consent  of  the  Pope,  was 
crowned  king,  and  anointed  by  the  hand  of  Boniface.  This 
able  sovereign  pursued  the  course  of  his  father  and  grand- 
father on  still  larger  scale ; aiding  the  popes  and  reducing 
the  Lombard  power  in  Italy,  carrying  on  wars  around 
the  borders  of  his  realm,  bringing  Aquitania  to  full 
submission,  and  expelling  the  Saracens  from  Nar- 

bonne  and  other  fortress  towns.  In  768  he  died,  again 

1 Ante,  Chapter  IX. 


VOL.  I 


P 


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dividing  his  vast  realm  between  his  two  sons  Carloman 
and  Charles. 

These  bore  each  other  little  love;  but  fortunately  the 
former  died  (771)  before  an  open  breach  occurred.  So 
Charles  was  left  to  rule  alone,  and  prove  himself,  all  things 
considered,  the  greatest  of  mediaeval  sovereigns.  Having 
fought  his  many  wars  of  conquest  and  subjugation  against 
Saracens,  Saxons,  Avars,  Bavarians,  Slavs,  Danes,  Lom- 
bards ; having  conquered  much  of  Italy  and  freed  the  Pope 
from  neighbouring  domination ; having  been  crowned  and 
anointed  emperor  in  the  year  800;  having  opened  new 
roads  for  commerce  and  forbidden  lawless  tolls ; having 
regulated  measures,  weights,  and  coinage ; having  chris- 
tianized with  iron  hand  much  stubborn  heathen  folk ; 
having  restored  letters,  uplifted  the  church,  and  admin- 
istered his  vast  realm  with  never-failing  energy,  he  died  in 
814 — just  one  hundred  years  after  the  time  when  his 
grandfather  Charles  was  left  to  fight  so  doughtily  for  life 
and  power. 

Poetry  and  history  have  conspired  to  raise  the  fame  of 
Charlemagne.  In  more  than  one  chanson  de  geste , the 
old  French  epopee  has  put  his  name  where  that  of  Pippin, 
Charles  Martel,  or  perhaps  that  of  some  Merovingian  should 
have  been.1  Sober  history  has  not  thus  falsified  its  matter, 
and  yet  has  over-dramatized  the  incidents  of  its  hero’s 
reign.  For  example,  every  schoolboy  has  been  told  of  the 
embassy  to  Charlemagne  from  Harun  al  Raschid,  Caliph  of 
Bagdad.  But  not  so  many  schoolboys  know  that  Pippin 
had  sent  an  embassy  to  a previous  caliph,  which  was  courte- 
ously entertained  for  three  years  in  Bagdad ; 2 and  Pippin, 
like  his  son,  received  embassies  from  the  Greek  emperor. 
The  careers  of  Charles  Martel  and  Pippin  have  not  been 
ignored ; and  yet  historical  convention  has  focused  its 
attention  and  its  phrases  upon  “the  age  of  Charlemagne.” 
One  should  not  forget  that  this  exceedingly  great  man  stood 
upon  the  shoulders  of  the  great  men  to  whose  achievement 
he  succeeded. 

1 E.g.  Charles  Martel  and  Pippin  drove  the  Saracens  from  Narbonne — not 
Charlemagne,  to  whom  these  chansons  ascribe  the  deed : Pippin  regulated  the  coinage, 
as  well  as  Charlemagne. 

2 The  dates  are  801  and  765. 


CHAP.  X 


CAROLIN GIAN  PERIOD 


2 1 1 


Neither  politically,  socially,  intellectually,  nor  geo- 
graphically 1 was  there  discontinuity  or  break  or  sudden 
change  between  the  Merovingian  and  the  Carolingian 
periods.2  The  character  of  the  monarchy  was  scarcely 
affected  by  the  substitution  of  the  house  of  Pippin  of  Heristal 
for  the  house  of  Clovis.  The  baleful  custom  of  dividing 
the  realm  upon  a monarch’s  death  survived;  but  Fortune 
rendered  it  innocuous  through  one  strong  century,  during 
which  (719-814)  the  realm  was  free  from  internecine  war, 
while  the  tossing  streams  of  humanity  were  driven  onward 
by  three  great  successive  rulers. 

The  Carolingian,  like  the  Merovingian,  realm  included 
many  different  peoples  who  were  destined  never  to  become 
one  nation;  and  the  whole  Carolingian  system  of  govern- 
ment virtually  had  existed  in  the  Merovingian  period. 
Before,  as  well  as  after,  the  dynastic  change,  the  government 
throughout  the  realm  was  administered  by  Counts.  Like- 
wise the  famous  missi  dominici , or  royal  legates,  are  found 
in  Merovingian  times ; but  they  were  employed  more 
effectively  by  Charles  Martel,  Pippin,  and,  finally,  by 
Charlemagne,  who  enlarged  their  sphere  of  action.  He 
elaborately  defined  their  functions  in  a famous  Capitulary 
of  the  year  802.  It  was  set  forth  that  the  emperor  had 
chosen  these  legates  from  among  his  best  and  greatest 
(ex  optimatibus  suis),  and  had  authorized  them  to  receive  the 
new  oaths  of  allegiance,  and  supervise  the  observance  of 
the  laws,  the  execution  of  justice,  the  maintenance  of  the 
military  and  fiscal  rights  of  the  emperor.  They  were  given 
power  to  see  that  the  permanent  functionaries  (the  counts 
and  their  subordinates)  duly  administered  the  law  as  written 

1 Historical  atlases  usually  devote  a double  map  to  the  Empire  of  Charlemagne 
and  little  side-maps  to  the  Merovingian  realm,  which  included  vast  German  territories, 
and  for  a time  extended  into  Italy. 

2 A part  of  the  serious  historian’s  task  is  to  get  rid  of  “epochs”  and  “re- 
naissances”— Carolingian,  Twelfth  Century,  or  Italian.  For  such  there  should 
be  substituted  a conception  of  historical  continuity,  with  result  properly  arising  from 
conditions.  Of  course,  one  must  have  convenient  terms,  like  “periods,”  etc.,  and 
they  are  legitimate ; for  the  Carolingian  period  did  differ  in  degree  from  the  Mero- 
vingian, and  the  twelfth  century  from  the  eleventh.  But  it  would  be  well  to  elimi- 
nate “renaissance.”  It  seems  to  have  been  applied  to  the  culture  of  the  quattrocento , 
etc.,  in  Italy  sixty  or  seventy  years  ago  (1845  is  the  earliest  instance  in  Murray’s 
Dictionary  of  this  use  of  the  word),  and  carries  more  false  notions  than  can  be  con- 
tradicted in  a summer’s  day. 


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or  recognized.  The  missi  had  jurisdiction  over  ecclesiastical 
as  well  as  lay  officials;  and  many  of  them  were  entrusted 
with  special  powers  and  duties  in  the  particular  instance. 

Thus  Charlemagne  developed  the  functions  of  these 
ancient  officers.  Likewise  his  Court  and  royal  council,  the 
synods  and  assemblies  of  his  reign,  the  military  service, 
modes  of  holding  land,  methods  of  collecting  revenue,  were 
not  greatly  changed  from  Merovingian  prototypes.  Yet  the 
old  institutions  had  been  renewed  and  bettered.  A vast 
misjoined  and  unrelated  realm  was  galvanized  into  temporary 
unity.  And,  most  impressive  and  portentous  thing  of  all, 
an  Empire — the  Holy  Roman  Empire — was  resurrected  for 
a time  in  fact  and  verity : the  same  was  destined  to  endure 
in  endeavour  and  contemplation. 

So  there  was  no  break  politically  or  socially  between  the 
Carolingian  Empire  and  its  antecedents,  which  had  made  it 
possible.  Likewise  there  was  no  discontinuity  spiritually 
and  intellectually  between  the  earlier  time  and  that  epoch 
which  begins  with  Charlemagne’s  first  endeavours  to  restore 
knowledge,  and  extends  through  the  ninth  and,  if  one  will, 
even  the  tenth  century.1  Western  Europe  (except  Scan- 
dinavia) had  become  nominally  Christian,  and  had  been 
made  acquainted  with  Latin  education  to  the  extent  indicated 
in  the  preceding  chapter,  the  purpose  of  which  was  to  tell 
how  Christianity  and  the  antique  culture  were  brought  to 
the  northern  peoples.  The  present  chapter,  on  the  other 
hand,  seeks  to  describe  how  the  eighth  and  ninth  centuries 
proceeded  to  learn  and  consider  and  react  upon  this  newly 
introduced  Christianity  and  antique  culture,  out  of  which 
the  spiritual  destinies  of  the  Middle  Ages  were  to  be  forged. 
The  task  of  Carolingian  scholars  was  to  learn  what  had  been 
brought  to  them.  They  scarcely  excelled  even  the  later 
intermediaries  through  whom  this  knowledge  had  been 

1 The  architecture,  sculpture,  and  painting  of  the  Carolingian  time  continued 
the  Christian  antique  or  Byzantine  styles.  Church  interiors  were  commonly 
painted,  a custom  coming  from  early  Christian  mosaic  and  fresco  decoration. 
Charlemagne’s  Capitularies  provided  for  the  renovation  of  the  churches,  including 
their  decorations.  No  large  sculpture  has  survived;  but  we  see  that  there  was 
little  artistic  originality  either  in  the  illumination  of  manuscripts  or  in  ivory 
carving.  The  royal  chapel  at  Aix  was  built  on  the  model  of  St.  Vitale  at  Ravenna, 
and  its  columns  appear  to  have  been  taken  from  existing  structures  and  brought  to 
Aix. 


CHAP.  X 


CAROLIN  GIAN  PERIOD 


213 


transmitted.  One  need  not  look  among  them  for  better 
scholarship  than  was  possessed  by  Bede,  who  died  in  735, 
the  birth  year  of  Alcuin  who  drew  so  much  from  him,  and 
was  to  be  the  chief  luminary  of  the  Palace  School  of  Charle- 
magne. Charlemagne’s  exertions  and  example  caused  a 
revival  of  sacred  and  profane  studies  through  the  region  of 
the  present  France  and  Rhenish  Germany.  His  primary 
motive  was  the  purification  and  extension  of  Catholic 
Christianity.1  For  this,  Charles  Martel  and  Pippin  (with  his 
brother  Carloman)  had  done  much,  as  their  support  of 
Boniface  testifies.  But  Charlemagne’s  efforts  went  beyond 
those  of  his  predecessors.  More  clearly  than  they  he 
understood  the  need  of  education,  and  he  was  himself 
intensely  interested  in  knowledge.  His  open-minded  love 
of  knowledge  was  shown  in  all  that  the  Palace  School 
became  under  his  inspiration  and  Alcuin ’s  directorship. 
There  young  princes  and  nobles  received  a primary  education 
in  Latin  letters,  and  learned  to  breathe  an  atmosphere  of 
intellectual  curiosity.  Stimulating  questions  were  asked, 
sometimes  by  Charles  himself,  and  answers  were  given 
by  the  scholars  whom  he  had  drawn  together. 

Charlemagne  was  primarily  a ruler  in  the  largest  sense, 
conqueror,  statesman,  law-giver,  one  who  realized  the  needs 
of  the  time,  and  met  or  forestalled  them.  His  monarchy 
with  its  powers  inherited,  as  well  as  radiating  from  his  own 
personality,  provided  an  imperial  government  for  western 
Europe.  The  chief  activities  of  this  ruler  and  his  epoch 
were  practical,  to  wit,  political  and  military.  In  laws,  in 
institutions,  and  in  deeds,  he  and  his  Empire  represent 
creativeness  and  progress;  although,  to  be  sure,  that  con- 
glomerate empire  of  his  had  itself  to  fall  in  pieces  before 
there  could  take  place  a more  lasting  and  national  evolution 
of  States.  And,  of  course,  Carolingian  political  creativeness 

1 Charlemagne’s  famous  open  letters  of  general  admonition,  de  litteris  colendis 
and  de  emendatione  librorum,  and  his  admonitio  generalis  for  the  instruction  of 
his  legates  ( missi ),  show  that  the  fundamental  purpose  of  his  exhortations  was  to 
advance  the  true  understanding  of  Scripture:  “ut  facilius  et  rectius  divinarum 
scripturarum  mysteria  valeatis  penetrare.”  To  this  end  he  seeks  to  improve  the 
Latin  education  of  monks  and  clergy;  and  to  this  end  he  would  have  the  texts  of 
Scripture  emended  and  a proper  liturgy  provided ; and,  as  touching  the  last,  he  refers 
to  the  efforts  of  his  father  Pippin  before  him.  The  best  edition  of  these  documents 
is  by  Boretius  in  the  Monumenta  Germaniae  hislorica. 


214 


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book  n 


included  the  conservation  of  existing  social,  political,  and, 
above  all,  ecclesiastical,  institutions.  In  fine,  this  period 
was  creative  and  progressive  in  its  practical  energies.  The 
factors  were  the  pressing  needs  and  palpable  opportunities, 
which  were  met  or  availed  of.  And  to  the  same  effective 
treatment  of  problems  ecclesiastical  and  doctrinal  was  due 
the  modicum  of  originality  in  the  Carolingian  literature. 
Aside  from  this,  the  period’s  intellectual  accomplishment,  in 
religious  as  well  as  secular  studies,  shows  a diligent  learning 
and  imitation  of  pagan  letters,  and  a rehandling  and  arrange- 
ment of  the  work  of  the  Church  Fathers  and  their  immedi- 
ate successors.  Its  efforts  were  spent  in  rearranging  the 
heritage  of  Christian  teaching,  or  in  endeavours  to  acquire 
the  transmitted  antique  culture  and  imitate  the  antique  in 
phrase  and  metre.  The  combined  task,  or  occupation, 
absorbed  the  minds  of  scholars.  The  whole  period  was  at 
school,  where  it  needed  to  be : at  school  to  the  Church 
Fathers,  at  school  to  the  transmitters  of  antique  culture. 
Its  task  was  one  of  adjustment  of  its  materials  to  itself, 
and  of  itself  to  its  materials.1 

The  restoration  of  studies  marking  the  life-time  of 
Charlemagne  and  the  decades  following  his  death  did 
not  extend  to  Italy.  Rather  that  land  where  letters 
might  decay  but  never  ceased,  furnished  a number 
of  the  scholars  who  contributed  to  the  northern  revival. 
Nor  did  it  extend  to  Anglo-Saxon  England,  where  Bede 
had  taught  and  whence  Alcuin  had  come.  The  revival 
radiated,  one  may  say,  from  the  Palace  School  attached 
to  the  Court,  which  had  its  least  intermittent  domicile  at 
Aix-la-Chapelle.  It  extended  to  the  chief  monastic  centres 
of  Gaul  and  Germany,  and  to  cathedral  schools  where  such 
existed.  From  many  lands  scholars  were  drawn  by  that 
great  hand  so  generous  in  giving,  so  mighty  to  protect. 
Some  came  on  invitation  more  or  less  compelling,  and  many 
of  their  own  free  will.  The  first  and  most  famous  of  them 
all  was  the  Anglo-Saxon,  Alcuin  of  York.2  Charles  first 
saw  him  at  Parma  in  the  year  781,  and  ever  after  kept 

1 For  an  interesting  estimate  of  the  time,  see  G.  Monod,  Etudes  critiques  sur  les 
sources  de  Vhistoire  carolingienne.  Bib.  deVEcole  des  Hautes  Etudes  (1898). 

2 On  Alcuin,  see  Manitius,  Ges.  der  lat.  Lit.  des  Mittelalters,  i.  pp.  273-288. 


CHAP.  X 


CAROLIN GIAN  PERIOD 


215 


him  in  his  service  as  his  most  trusted  teacher  and  director 
of  studies.  Love  of  home  drew  Alcuin  back,  once  at  least, 
to  England.  In  796  Charles  permitted  him  to  leave  the 
Court,  and  entrusted  him  with  the  re-establishment  of  the 
Abbey  of  St.  Martin  at  Tours  and  its  schools.  There  he 
lived  and  laboured  till  his  death  in  804. 

Another  scholar  was  Peter  of  Pisa,  a grammarian,  who 
seems  to  have  shared  with  Alcuin  the  honourable  task  of 
instructing  the  king.  Of  greater  note  was  Paulus  Diaconus, 
who,  like  Alcuin  himself,  was  to  sigh  for  the  pious  or 
scholarly  quiet  which  the  seething,  half-barbarous,  and 
loose-mannered  Court  did  not  afford.  Paulus  at  last  gained 
Charles’s  consent  to  retire  to  Monte  Cassino.  He  was  of  the 
Lombard  race,  like  another  favourite  of  Charles,  Paulinus  of 
Aquileia.  From  Spain,  apparently,  came  Theodulphus,  by 
descent  a Goth,  and  reputed  the  most  elegant  Latin  versifier 
of  his  time.  Charles  made  him  Bishop  of  Orleans.  A little 
later,  Einhart  the  Frank  appears,  who  was  to  be  the 
emperor’s  secretary  and  biographer.  Likewise  came  certain 
sons  of  Erin,  among  them  such  a problematic  poet  as  he 
who  styled  himself  “Hibernicus  Exul” — not  the  first  or  last 
of  his  line ! 

These  belonged  to  the  generation  about  the  emperor. 
Belonging  to  the  next  generation,  and  for  the  most  part 
pupils  of  the  older  men,  were  Abbot  Smaragdus,  grammarian 
and  didactic  writer;  the  German,  Rabanus  Maurus,  Abbot 
of  Fulda  and,  against  his  will,  Archbishop  of  Mainz,  an 
encyclopaedic  excerpter  and  educator,  primus  praeceptor 
Germaniae;  his  pupil  was  Walafrid  Strabo,  the  cleverest 
putter-together  of  the  excerpt  commentary,  and  a pleasing 
poet.  In  Lorraine  at  the  same  time  flourished  the  Irishman, 
Sedulius  Scotus,  and  in  the  West  that  ardent  classical 
scholar,  Servatus  Lupus,  Abbot  of  Ferrieres,  and  Agobard, 
Bishop  of  Lyons,  a man  practical  and  hard-headed,  with 
whom  one  may  couple  Claudius,  Bishop  of  Turin,  the 
opponent  of  relic-worship.  One  might  also  mention  those 
theological  controversialists,  Radbertus  Paschasius  and 
Ratramnus,  Hincmar,  the  great  Archbishop  of  Rheims,  and 
Gottschalk,  the  unhappy  monk,  ever  recalcitrant;  at  the 
end  John  Scotus  Eriugena  should  stand,  the  somewhat  too 


2l6 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


intellectual  Neo-Platonic  Irishman,  translator  of  Pseudo- 
Dionysius,  and  announcer  of  various  rationalizing  proposi- 
tions for  which  men  were  to  look  on  him  askance. 

There  will  be  occasion  to  speak  more  particularly  of  a 
number  of  these  men.  They  were  all  scholars,  and  interested 
in  the  maintenance  of  elementary  Latin  education  as  well  as 
in  theology.  They  wished  to  write  good  Latin,  and  some- 
times tried  for  a classical  standard,  as  Einhart  did  in  his 
Vita  Caroli.  Few  of  them  refrained  from  verse,  for  they 
were  addicted  to  metrical  compositions  made  of  borrowed 
classic  phrase  and  often  of  reflected  classic  sentiment,  some- 
times prettily  composed,  but  usually  insipid,  and  in  the 
mass,  which  was  great,  exceptionally  uninspired.  Such 
metrical  effort,  quite  as  much  as  Einhart’s  consciously 
classicizing  Latin  prose,  represents  a survival  of  the  antique 
excited  to  recrudescence  in  forms  which,  if  they  were  not 
classical,  at  least  had  not  become  anything  else.  Stylisti- 
cally and  perhaps  temperamentally,  it  represented  the  ending 
of  what  had  nearly  passed  away,  rather  than  the  beginning 
of  the  more  organic  development  which  was  to  come.1 

Among  these  men,  Alcuin  and  Rabanus  broadly  represent 
at  once  the  intellectual  interests  of  the  period  and  the 
first  stage  in  the  process  of  the  mediaeval  appropriation  of 
the  patristic  and  antique  material.  The  affectionate  and 
sympathetic  personality  of  the  former2  appears  throughout 
his  voluminous  correspondence  with  Charles  and  others, 
which  shows,  among  other  matters,  the  interest  of  the 
time  in  elementary  points  of  Latinity,  and  the  alertness 
of  the  mind  of  the  great  king,  who  put  so  many  questions 
to  his  genial  instructor  upon  grammar,  astronomy,  and  such 
like  knowledge.  An  examination  of  the  works  of  Alcuin 
will  indicate  the  range  and  character  of  the  educational  and 
more  usual  intellectual  interests  of  the  epoch.  In  fact,  they 
are  outlined  in  a simple  fashion  suited  to  youthful  minds  in 
his  treatise  upon  Grammar.3  Its  opening  colloquy  presents 

1 As  to  the  stylistic  qualities  of  Carolingian  prose  and  metre  see  post,  Chapters 
XXXII.,  XXXIII. 

2 Alcuin’s  works  are  printed  conveniently  in  tomes  ioo  and  ioi  of  Migne’s  Patro- 
logia  Latina.  Extracts  are  given,  post,  Chapter  XXXII.,  to  indicate  the  place  of 
Carolingian  prose  in  the  development  of  mediaeval  Latin  styles. 

3 Printed  in  Migne  ioi,  col.  849-902.  Alcuin  adopted  for  his  Grammar  the 
dialogue  form  frequent  in  Anglo-Saxon  literature;  and  from  his  time  the  question 


CHAP.  X 


CAROLIN GIAN  PERIOD 


217 


a sort  of  programme  and  justification  of  elementary  secular 
studies. 

“ We  have  heard  you  saying,”  begins  Discipulus,  “that 
philosophy  is  the  teacher  ( magistra ) of  all  virtues,  and  that 
she  alone  of  secular  riches  has  never  left  the  possessor 
miserable.  Lend  a hand,  good  Master,” — and  the  pupil 
becomes  self-deprecatory.  “Flint  has  fire  within,  which 
comes  out  only  when  struck;  so  the  light  of  knowledge 
exists  by  nature  in  human  minds,  but  a teacher  is  needed 
to  knock  it  out.” 

“ It  is  easy,”  responds  the  Master,  “to  show  you  wisdom’s 
path,  if  only  you  will  pursue  it  for  the  sake  of  God,  for  the 
sake  of  the  soul’s  purity  and  to  learn  the  truth,  and  also 
for  its  own  sake,  and  not  for  human  praise  and  honour.” 

We  confess,  answers  little  Discipulus,  that  we  love  hap- 
piness, but  know  not  whether  it  can  exist  in  this  world. 
And  the  dialogue  rambles  on  in  discursive  comment  upon 
the  superiority  of  the  lasting  over  the  transitory,  with  some 
feeble  echoing  of  notes  from  Boethius’s  De  consolatione. 
There  is  talk  to  show  that  man,  a rational  animal,  the 
image  of  his  Creator,  and  immortal  in  his  better  part,  should 
seek  what  is  truly  of  himself,  and  not  what  is  alien,  the 
abiding  'and  not  fugitive.  In  fine,  one  should  adorn  the 
soul,  which  is  eternal,  with  wisdom,  the  soul’s  true  lasting 
dignity.  There  is  some  coy  demurring  over  the  steepness 
of  the  way ; but  the  pupil  is  ardent,  and  the  Master  confident 
that  with  the  aid  of  Divine  Grace  they  will  ascend  the  seven 
grades  of  philosophy,  by  which  philosophers  have  gained 
honour  brighter  than  that  of  kings,  and  the  holy  doctors 
and  defenders  of  our  Catholic  Faith  have  triumphed  over 
all  heresiarchs.  “Through  these  paths,  dearest  son,  let 
your  youth  run  its  daily  course,  until  its  completed  years 
and  strengthened  mind  shall  attain  to  the  heights  of  the 
Holy  Scriptures  upon  which  you  and  your  like  shall  become 
armed  defenders  of  the  Faith  and  invincible  assertors  of  its 
truth.”  This  means,  of  course,  that  the  Liberal  Arts  are 
the  proper  preparation  for  the  study  of  Scripture,  that  is, 
theology.  But  Alcuin’s  discourse  seems  to  tarry  with  those 


and  answer  of  Discipulus  and  Magister  will  not  cease  their  cicada  chime  in  didactic 
Latin  writings. 


2 18 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


studies  as  if  detained  by  some  love  of  them  for  their  own 
sake. 

The  body  of  this  treatise  is  in  form  a disputation  between 
two  youthful  pupils,  a Frank  and  a Saxon.  A M agister 
makes  a third  interlocutor,  and  sets  the  subject  of  the 
argument.  These  personae  discuss  letters  and  syllables 
in  definitions  taken  from  Donatus,  Priscian,  or  Isidore ; 
and  whenever  Alcuin  permits  any  one  of  them  to  stray  from 
the  words  of  those  authorities,  the  language  shows  at  once 
his  own  confused  ideas  regarding  the  parts  of  speech.  He 
uses  terms  without  adequately  comprehending  them,  and 
thus  affords  one  of  the  myriad  examples  of  how,  under 
decadent  or  barbarized  conditions,  phrases  may  outlive  an 
intelligent  understanding  of  their  meaning.  “ Grammar,” 
says  the  M agister,  when  solicited  to  define  it,  “is  the  science 
of  letters,  and  the  guardian  of  correct  speech  and  writing. 
It  rests  on  nature,  reason,  authority,  and  custom.”  “In 
how  many  species  is  it  divided?”  “In  twenty-six:  words, 
letters,  syllables,  clauses,  dictions,  speeches,  definitions, 
feet,  accent,  punctuation,  signs,  spelling,  analogies,  etymo- 
logies, glosses,  differences,  barbarism,  solecism,  faults, 
metaplasm,  schemata,  tropes,  prose,  metre,  fables  and 
histories.” 1 The  actual  treatise  does  not  cover  these 
twenty-six  topics,  but  confines  itself  to  the  division  of 
grammar  commonly  called  Etymology. 

Though  the  mental  processes  of  an  individual  preserve 
a working  harmony,  some  of  them  appear  more  rational 
than  others.  Such  disparities  may  be  glaring  in  men  who 
enter  upon  the  learning  of  a higher  civilization  without 
proper  pilotage.  How  are  they  to  discriminate  between  the 
valuable  and  the  foolish?  The  common  sense,  which  they 
apply  to  familiar  matters,  contrasts  with  their  childlike 
lucubrations  upon  novel  topics  of  education  or  philosophy. 
And  if  that  higher  culture  to  which  such  pupils  are  intro- 
duced be  in  part  decadent,  it  will  itself  contain  disparities 
between  the  stronger  thinking  held  in  the  surviving  writings 
of  a prior  time  and  the  later  degeneracies  which  are  declining 
to  the  level,  it  may  be,  of  these  new  learners. 

1 Migne  ioi,  col.  857.  See  Mullinger,  Schools  of  Charles  the  Great,  p.  76  (an 
excellent  book),  and  West’s  Alcuin , chap.  v.  (New  York,  1892). 


CHAP.  X 


CAROLIN GIAN  PERIOD 


219 

There  would  naturally  be  disparities  in  the  mental 
process  of  an  Anglo-Saxon  like  Alcuin  introduced  to  the 
debris  of  Latin  education  and  the  writing  of  the  Fathers ; 
and  his  state  would  typify  the  character  of  the  studies  at 
the  Palace  School  of  Charlemagne  and  at  monastic  schools 
through  his  northern  realm.  This  newly  stimulated  scholar- 
ship held  the  same  disparities  that  appear  in  the  writings 
of  Alcuin.  He  may  seem  to  be  adapting  his  teaching  to 
barbaric  needs,  but  it  is  evident  that  his  matter  accords 
with  his  own  intellectual  tastes,  as,  for  example,  when  he 
introduces  into  his  educational  writings  the  habit  of  riddling 
in  metaphors,  so  dear  to  the  Anglo-Saxon.1  The  sound  but 
very  elementary  portions  of  his  teaching  were  needed  by  the 
ignorance  of  his  scholars.  For  instance,  no  information 
regarding  Latin  orthography  could  come  amiss  in  the  eighth 
century.  And  Alcuin  in  his  treatise  on  that  subject 2 took 
many  words  commonly  misspelled  and  contrasted  them  with 
those  which  sounded  like  them,  but  were  quite  different  in 
meaning  and  derivation.  One  should  not,  for  example, 
confuse  habeo  with  abeo;  or  bibo  and  vivo.  Such  warnings 
were  valuable.  The  use  of  the  vulgar  Romance-forms  of 
Latin  spoken  through  a large  part  of  Charles’s  dominions 
implied  no  knowledge  of  correct  Latinity.  Even  among 
the  clergy,  there  was  almost  universal  ignorance  of  Latin 
orthography  and  grammar. 

As  a companion  to  his  Grammar  and  Orthography , Alcuin 
composed  a De  rhetorica  et  virtutibus ,3  in  the  form  of  a 
dialogue  between  Charles  and  himself.  The  king  desired 
such  instruction  to  equip  him  for  the  civil  disputes  ( civiles 
quaestiones ) which  were  brought  before  him  from  all  parts 
of  his  realm.  And  Alcuin  proceeded  to  furnish  him  with  a 
compend  of  the  scientia  bene  dicendi,  which  is  Rhetoric. 
This  crude  epitome  was  based  chiefly  on  Cicero’s  De  inven- 
tione,  but  indicates  a use  of  other  of  his  oratorical  writings, 
and  has  bits  here  and  there  which  apparently  have  filtered 


1 As  in  his  Disputatio  Pippini  (the  son  of  Charlemagne),  Migne  ioi,  col.  975-980, 

which  is  just  a series  of  didactic  riddles:  What  is  a letter?  The  guardian  of  history. 

What  is  a word?  The  betrayer  of  the  mind.  What  generates  language ? The  tongue. 
What  is  the  tongue?  The  whip  of  the  air — and  so  forth. 

2 De  orthographia,  Migne  101,  col.  902-919. 

3 Migne  101,  col.  919-950.  Mullinger,  o.c.  pp.  83-85. 


220 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


through  from  the  Rhetoric  of  Aristotle.  Some  illustrations 
are  taken  from  Scripture.  The  work  is  most  successful  in 
showing  the  difference  between  Cicero  and  Alcuin.  The 
genius,  the  spirit,  the  art  of  the  great  orator  s treatises  are 
lost;  a naked  skeleton  of  statement  remains.  We  have 
words,  terms,  definitions,  even  rules ; and  Alcuin  is  not 
conscious  that  beyond  them  there  is  the  living  spirit  of 
discourse. 

A more  complete  descent  from  substance  to  a clatter  of 
words  and  definitions  is  exhibited  by  Alcuin’s  De  dialectica } 
In  logical  studies  facilis  descensus!  Others  had  illustrated 
this  before  him.  His  treatise  is  again  a dialogue,  with 
Charlemagne  for  questioner.  Opening  with  the  stock 
definitions  and  divisions  of  philosophy,  it  arrives  at  logic, 
which  is  composed  (as  Isidore  and  Cassiodorus  said)  of 
dialectic  and  rhetoric,  “the  shut  and  open  fist,”  a simile 
which  had  come  down  from  Varro.  Says  Charles:  “What 
are  the  species  of  dialectic?”  Answers  Alcuin:  “Five 
principal  ones : Isagogae,  categories,  forms  of  syllogisms 

and  definitions,  topics,  periermeniae.”  What  a classifica- 
tion ! Introductions,  categories,  syllogisms,  topics,  De 
inter pretatione-s ! It  is  not  a classification  but  in  reality 
an  enumeration  of  the  treatises  which  had  served  as  sources 
for  those  men  from  whom  Alcuin  drew ! Evidently  this 
excerpter  is  not  really  thinking  in  the  terms  and  categories 
of  his  subject.  His  work  shows  no  intelligence  beyond 
Isidore’s,  from  whose  Etymologies  it  is  largely  taken.  And 
the  genius  of  our  author  for  metaphysics  may  be  perceived 
from  the  definition  which  he  offers  Charles  of  substance — • 
substantia  or  usia  ( i.e . ovala) : it  is  that  which  is  discerned 
by  corporeal  sense;  while  accidens  is  that  which  changes 
frequently  and  is  apprehended  by  the  mind.  Substantia 
is  the  underlying,  the  subiacens , in  which  the  accidentia  are 
said  to  be.2  One  observes  the  crassness  of  these  statements. 

These  are  illustrations  of  the  knowledge  and  methods 
shown  in  the  educational  writings  of  the  man  who,  next  to 
Charles  himself,  was  the  guiding  spirit  of  the  intellectual 
revival.  No  mention  has  been  made  of  those  of  his  works 
that  were  representative  of  the  chief  intellectual  labour  of 

1 Migne  ioi,  col.  951-976.  2 Migne  101,  col.  956. 


CHAP.  X 


CAROLIN GIAN  PERIOD 


221 


the  period — that  of  exploiting  the  Patristic  material.  Here 
Alcuin  contributed  a compend  of  Augustine’s  doctrines  on 
the  Trinity,1  and  a book  on  the  Vices  and  Virtues,  drawn 
chiefly  from  Augustine’s  sermons.2  Like  most  of  his 
learned  contemporaries,  he  also  compiled  Commentaries 
upon  Scripture,  the  method  of  which  is  prettily  told  in  a 
prefatory  epistle  placed  by  him  before  his  Commentary  on 
the  Gospel  of  John,  and  addressed  to  two  pious  women : 

“ Devoutly  searching  the  pantries  of  the  holy  Fathers,  I let  you 
taste  whatever  I have  been  able  to  find  in  them.  Nor  did  I deem 
it  fitting  to  cull  the  blossoms  from  any  meadow  of  my  own,  but 
with  humble  heart  and  head  bowed  low,  to  search  through  the 
flowering  fields  of  many  Fathers,  and  thus  safely  satisfy  your 
pious  pleasure.  First  of  all  I seek  the  suffrage  of  Saint  Augustine, 
who  laboured  with  such  zeal  upon  this  Gospel;  then  I draw 
something  from  the  tracts  of  the  most  holy  doctor  Saint  Ambrose ; 
nor  have  I neglected  the  homilies  of  Father  Gregory  the  pope, 
or  those  of  the  blessed  Bede,  nor,  in  fact,  the  works  of  others  of 
the  holy  Fathers.  I have  cited  their  interpretations  as  I found 
them,  preferring  to  use  their  meanings  and  their  words,  than  trust 
to  my  own  presumption.”  3 

In  the  next  generation,  a most  industrious  compiler  of 
such  Commentaries  was  Alcuin’s  pupil,  Rabanus  Maurus.4 

1 Migne  ioi,  col.  11-56.  2 Migne  101,  col.  613-638. 

3 Migne  ioo,  col.  737,  744. 

4 An  important  person.  He  was  born  at  Mainz  about  776.  Placed  as  a child 
in  the  convent  of  Fulda,  his  talents  and  learning  caused  him  to  be  sent  at  the 
age  of  twenty-one  to  Alcuin  at  Tours  for  further  instruction.  After  Alcuin’s 
death  in  804,  Rabanus  returned  to  Fulda  and  was  made  Principal  of  the  monastery 
school.  In  822  he  was  elected  Abbot.  His  labours  gained  for  him  the  title  of 
Primus  praeceptor  Germaniae.  Resigning  in  842,  he  withdrew  to  devote  himself  to 
literary  labours;  but  he  was  soon  drawn  from  his  retreat  and  made  Archbishop  of 
Mainz.  He  died  in  856.  While  archbishop,  and  also  while  abbot,  Rabanus  with 
spiteful  zeal  prosecuted  that  rebellious  monk,  the  high-born  Saxon  Gottschalk,  who, 
among  other  faults,  held  too  harsh  views  upon  Predestination.  His  works  are  pub- 
lished in  Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  107- 1 12. 

Rabanus  has  left  huge  Commentaries  upon  the  books  of  the  Old  and  New 
Testaments,  in  which  he  and  his  pupils  gathered  the  opinions  of  the  Fathers. 
He  also  added  such  needful  comment  of  his  own  as  his  “exiguity”  of  mind  per- 
mitted (Praef.  to  Com.  in  Lib.  Judicum,  Migne  108,  col.  mo).  His  Commentaries 
were  superseded  by  the  Glossa  ordinaria  (Migne  113  and  114)  of  his  own  pupil, 
Walafrid  Strabo,  which  was  systematically  put  together  from  Rabanus  and  those 
upon  whom  he  drew.  It  was  smoothly  done,  and  the  writer  knew  how  to  eliminate 
obscurity  and  prolixity,  and  in  fact  make  his  work  such  that  it  naturally  became  the 
Commentary  in  widest  use  for  centuries.  The  dominant  interest  of  these  commen- 
tators is  in  the  allegorical  significance  of  Scripture,  as  we  shall  see  (Chapter  XXVIII.) . 
On  Rabanus  and  Walafrid,  see  Ebert,  Allge.  Gesch.  der  Lit.  des  Miltelalters,  ii.  120-166. 


222 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


More  deeply  learned  than  his  master,  his  conception  of 
the  purpose  of  study  has  not  changed  essentially.  Like 
Alcuin,  he  sets  forth  a proper  intellectual  programme  for 
the  instruction  of  the  clergy:  “The  foundation,  the  state, 

and  the  perfection,  of  wisdom  is  knowledge  of  the  Holy 
Scrip tures.”  The  Seven  Arts  are  the  ancillary  disciplinae; 
the  first  three  constitute  that  grammatical,  rhetorical,  and 
logical  training  which  is  needed  for  an  understanding  of 
the  holy  texts  and  their  interpretation.  Likewise  arithmetic 
and  the  rest  of  the  quadrivium  have  place  in  the  cleric’s 
education.  A knowledge  of  pagan  philosophy  need  not  be 
avoided:  “The  philosophers,  especially  the  Platonists,  if 

perchance  they  have  spoken  truths  accordant  with  our  faith, 
are  not  to  be  shunned,  but  their  truths  appropriated,  as 
from  unjust  possessors.”1  And  Rabanus  continues  with  the 
never-failing  metaphor  of  Moses  despoiling  the  Egyptians. 

Raban,  however,  had  somewhat  larger  thoughts  of  edu- 
cation than  his  master.  For  example,  he  takes  a broader 
view  of  grammar,  which  he  regards  as  the  scientia  of  inter- 
preting the  poets  and  historians,  and  the  ratio  of  correct 
speech  and  writing.2  Likewise  he  treats  Dialectica  more 
seriously.  With  him  it  is  the  “ disciplina  of  rational 
investigation,  of  defining  and  discussing,  and  distinguishing 
the  true  from  the  false.  It  is  therefore  the  disciplina 
disciplinarum.  It  teaches  how  to  teach  and  how  to  learn; 
in  this  same  study,  reason  itself  demonstrates  what  it  is 
and  what  it  wills.  This  art  alone  knows  how  to  know,  and  is 
willing  and  able  to  make  knowers.  Reasoning  in  it,  we 
learn  what  we  are,  and  whence,  and  also  to  know  Creator 
and  creature;  through  it  we  trace  truth  and  detect  falsity, 
we  argue  and  discover  what  is  consequent  and  what  incon- 
sequent, what  is  contrary  to  the  nature  of  things,  what  is 
true,  what  is  probable,  and  what  is  intrinsically  false  in 
disputations.  Wherefore  the  clergy  ought  to  know  this 
noble  art,  and  have  its  laws  in  constant  meditation,  so  that 
subtly  they  may  discern  the  wiles  of  heretics,  and  confute 
their  poisoned  sayings  with  the  conclusions  of  the  syllogism.”3 

This  somewhat  extravagant  but  not  novel  view  of  logic’s 

1 De  cleric,  inst.  iii.  26  (Migne  107,  col.  404). 

3 Ibid.  iii.  20  (Migne  107,  col.  397). 


2 Ibid.  iii.  18. 


CHAP.  X 


C AROLIN GIAN  PERIOD 


223 


function  was  prophetic  of  the  coming  scholastic  reliance 
upon  it  as  the  means  and  instrument  of  truth.  Rabanus 
had  no  hesitancy  in  commending  this  edged  tool  to  his 
pupils.  But  the  operations  of  his  mind  were  predominantly 
Carolingian,  which  is  to  say  that  ninety-nine  per  cent  of  the 
contents  of  his  opera  consists  of  material  extracted  from 
prior  writers.  His  Commentaries  upon  Scripture  outbulk 
all  his  other  works  taken  together,  and  are  compiled  in 
this  manner.  So  is  his  encyclopaedic  compilation,  De 
universo  libri  XXII.}  two  books  more  than  in  Isidore’s 
Etymologies , from  which  he  chiefly  drew ; but  he  changed 
the  arrangement,  and  devoted  a larger  part  of  his  parchment 
to  religious  topics;  and  he  added  further  matter  gleaned 
from  the  Church  Fathers,  from  whom  he  had  drawn  his 
Commentaries.  This  further  matter  consisted  of  the 
mystical  interpretations  of  things,  which  he  subjoined  to 
their  “natural”  explanations.  He  says,  in  his  Praefatio, 
addressed  to  King  Louis  : 

“ Much  is  set  forth  in  this  work  concerning  the  natures  of  things 
and  the  meanings  of  words,  and  also  as  to  the  mystical  significa- 
tion of  things.  Accordingly  I have  arranged  my  matter  so  that 
the  reader  may  find  the  historical  and  mystical  explanations  of 
each  thing  set  together — continuatim  positam;  and  may  be  able 
to  satisfy  his  desire  to  know  both  significations.” 

These  allegorical  elaborations  accorded  with  the  habits  of 
this  compiler  of  allegorical  comment  upon  Scripture.2 

Rabanus  was  a full  Teutonic  personality,  a massive 
scholar  for  his  time,  untiring  in  labour  and  intrinsically 
honest.  Except  when  involved  in  the  foolishness  of  the 
mystic  qualities  of  numbers,  or  following  the  will-o’-wisps 
of  allegory,  he  evinces  much  sound  wisdom.  He  abhors 
the  pretence  of  teaching  what  one  has  not  first  diligently 
learned ; and  his  good  sense  is  shown  in  his  admonition  to 
teachers  to  use  words  which  their  pupils  or  audience  will 
understand.  His  views  upon  profane  knowledge  were 
liberal : one  should  use  the  treasured  experience  and 
accumulated  wisdom  of  the  ancients,  for  that  is  still  the 

1 Migne  111,  col.  9-614. 

2 Raban’s  excruciating  De  laudibus  sanctae  crncis  shows  what  he  could  do  as  a 
virtuoso  in  allegorical  mystification  (Migne  107,  col.  137-294). 


224 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


mainstay  of  human  society;  but  one  should  shun  their  vain 
as  well  as  pernicious  idolatries  and  superstitions.1  Let  us 
by  all  means  preserve  their  sound  educational  learning  and 
the  elements  of  their  philosophy  which  accord  with  the 
verities  of  Christian  doctrine.  Raban  also  realized  the 
sublimity  of  the  study  of  Astronomy,  which  he  deemed  “a 
worthy  argument  for  the  religious  and  a torment  for  the 
curious.  If  pursued  with  chaste  and  sober  mind,  it  floods 
our  thoughts  with  immense  love.  How  admirable  to  mount 
the  heavens  in  spirit,  and  with  inquiring  reason  consider 
that  whole  celestial  fabric,  and  from  every  side  gather  in 
the  mind’s  reflective  heights  what  those  vast  recesses  veil.”2 
He  then  rebukes  the  folly  of  those  who  vainly  would  draw 
auguries  from  the  stars.3 

Raban’s  mental  activities  were  commonly  constrained 
by  the  need  felt  by  him  and  his  pious  contemporaries  to 
master  the  works  of  the  Latin  Fathers.  Perhaps  more  than 
any  other  one  man  (though  here  his  pupil  Walafrid  Strabo 
made  a skilful  second)  he  contributed  to  what  necessarily 
was  the  first  stage  in  this  mediaeval  achievement  of  appro- 
priating patristic  Christianity,  to  wit,  the  preliminary  task 
of  rearranging  the  doctrinal  expositions  of  the  Fathers 
convenient^,  and  for  the  most  part  in  Commentaries 
following  verse  and  chapter  of  the  canonical  books  of 
Scripture.  But,  like  many  of  his  contemporaries,  Raban, 
when  compelled  by  controversial  exigencies,  would  think 
for  himself  if  the  situation  could  not  be  met  with  matter 
taken  from  a Father.  Accordingly,  individual  and  personal 
views  are  vigorously  put  in  some  of  his  writings,  as  in  his 
Liber  de  oblatione  puerorum ,4  directed  against  the  attempt  of 
the  interesting  Saxon,  Gottschalk,  to  free  himself  from  the 
vows  made  by  those  who  dedicated  him  in  boyhood  as  an 
oblatus  at  the  monastery  of  Fulda,  of  which  Raban  was 
abbot.  Raban’s  tract  maintained  that  the  monastic  vows 
made  upon  such  dedication  of  children  could  not  be  broken 
by  the  latter  on  reaching  years  of  discretion. 

This  same  Gottschalk  was  the  centre  of  the  storm, 

1 De  cleric,  inst.  iii.  16  (Migne  107,  col.  392). 

2 De  cleric,  inst.  iii.  25  (Migne  107,  col.  403). 

3 Compare  his  De  magicis  artibus,  Migne  no,  col.  1095  sqq. 

4 Migne  107,  col.  419  sqq. 


CHAP.  X 


CAROLIN GIAN  PERIOD 


225 


which  he  indeed  blew  up,  over  Predestination ; and  again 
Raban  was  his  fierce  opponent.  This  controversy,  with  that 
relating  to  the  Eucharist,  will  serve  to  illustrate  the  doctrinal 
interests  of  the  time,  and  also  to  exemplify  the  quasi- 
originality of  its  controversial  productions. 

Of  course  Predestination  and  the  Eucharist  had  been 
exhaustively  discussed  by  the  Latin  Fathers.  No  man  of 
the  ninth  century  could  really  add  anything  to  the  arguments 
touching  the  former  set  forth  in  the  works  of  Augustine  and 
his  Pelagian  adversaries.  And  the  substance  of  the  dis- 
cussion as  to  the  eucharistic  Body  and  Blood  of  Christ  had 
permeated  countless  tomes,  both  Greek  and  Latin,  from  the 
time  of  Irenaeus,  Bishop  of  Lyons  (d.  202) ; and  yet  neither 
as  to  the  impossible  topic  of  Predestination,  nor  as  to  the 
distinctly  Christian  mystery  of  the  Eucharist,  had  the  Latin 
Church  authoritatively  and  finally  fixed  doctrine  in  dogma 
or  put  together  the  arguments.  The  ninth  century  with  its 
lack  of  elastic  thinking,  and  its  greater  need  of  tangible 
authority,  was  compelled  by  its  mental  limitations  to  attempt 
in  each  of  these  matters  to  drag  a definite  conclusion  from 
out  of  its  entourage  of  argument,  and  strip  it  of  its  decently 
veiling  obscurities.  Thereupon,  and  with  its  justifying  and 
balanced  foundation  of  reasons  and  considerations  knocked 
from  under,  the  conclusion  had  to  sustain  itself  in  mid  air, 
just  at  the  level  of  the  common  eye. 

Such,  obviously,  was  the  result  of  the  Eucharistic  or 
Paschal  controversy.  The  symbol,  all  indecision  brushed 
away,  hardened  into  the  tangible  miraculous  reality. 
Radbertus,  Abbot  of  Corbie,  who  was  so  rightly  named 
Paschasius,  was  the  chief  agent  in  the  process.  His  method 
of  procedure,  just  as  the  result  which  he  obtained,  was  what 
the  time  required.  The  method  was  almost  a bit  of  creation 
in  itself : he  put  the  matter  in  a separate  monograph,  De 
cor  pore  et  sanguine  Domini the  first  work  exclusively 
devoted  to  the  subject.  This  was  needed  as  a matter  of 
arrangement  and  presentation.  Men  could  not  endure  to 
look  here  and  thither  among  many  books  on  many  subjects, 
for  arguments  one  way  and  the  other.  That  was  too 
distraught.  There  was  call  for  a compendium,  a manual 

1 Migne  120,  col.  1267-1350. 


VOL.  I 


Q 


226 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


of  the  matter ; and  in  providing  it  Paschasius  was  a master 
mechanic  for  his  time.  Inevitably  the  discussion  and  the 
conclusion  took  on  a new  definiteness.  It  is  impossible  to 
glean  and  gather  arguments  and  matter  from  all  sides,  and 
bring  them  together  into  a single  composition,  without 
making  the  thesis  more  organic,  tangible,  definite.  Thus 
Paschasius  presented  the  scattered,  wavering  discussion — 
the  victorious  side  of  it — as  a clear  dogma  reached  at  last. 
And  whatever  qualification  of  counter-doctrine  there  was  in 
his  grouped  arguments,  there  was  none  in  the  conclusion ; 
and  the  definite  conclusion  was  what  men  wanted. 

And  practically  for  the  whole  western  Church,  clergy 
and  laity,  the  conclusion  was  but  one,  and  accorded  with 
what  was  already  the  current  acceptance  of  the  matter. 
Radbert’s  arguments  embraced  the  spiritual  realism  of 
Augustine,  according  to  which  the  ultra  reality  of  the 
Eucharistic  elements  consisted  in  the  mrtus  sacramenti,  that 
is  in  their  miraculous  and  real,  but  invisible,  transformation 
into  the  veritable  substance  of  Christ’s  veritable  body.  This 
took  place  through  priestly  consecration,  and  existed  only 
for  believers.  For  the  brute  to  eat  the  elements  was  nothing 
more  than  to  consume  other  similar  natural  substances. 
For  the  misbeliever  it  was  not  so  simple.  He  indeed  ate 
not  Christ’s  body,  but  his  own  judicium,  his  own  deeper 
damnation.  Here  lay  the  terror,  which  made  more  anxious, 
more  poignant,  the  believer’s  hope,  that  he  was  faithful  and 
humbled,  and  was  eating  the  veritable  Christ-body  to  his 
sure  salvation.  For  the  Eucharist  could  not  fail,  though 
the  partaker  might. 

Out  of  all  this  emerged  the  one  clear  thing,  the  point, 
the  practical  conclusion,  which  was  transubstantiation, 
though  the  word  was  not  yet  made.  Here  it  is  in  Paschasius ; 
says  he:  “That  body  and  blood  veritably  come  into  exist- 
ence ( jiat ) by  the  consecration  of  the  Mystery,  no  one  doubts 
who  believes  the  divine  words;  hence  Truth  says,  ‘For  my 
flesh  verily  is  food,  and  my  blood  verily  is  drink’  (John 
vi.  55).  And  that  it  should  be  clearer  to  the  disciples  who 
did  not  rightly  understand  of  what  flesh  he  spoke,  or  of 
what  blood,  he  added,  to  make  this  plain,  ‘Whoso  eateth 
my  flesh,  and  drinketh  my  blood,  abideth  in  me  and  I in 


CHAP.  X 


CAROLIN GIAN  PERIOD 


227 


him’  (ibid.  56).  Therefore,  if  it  is  veritably  food,  it  is 
veritable  flesh ; and  if  it  is  veritably  drink,  it  also  is  veritable 
blood.  Otherwise  how  could  he  have  said,  ‘The  bread 
which  I will  give  is  my  flesh  for  the  life  of  the  world’  (ibid. 

52)?” 

Could  anything  be  more  positive  and  simplified?  At 
first  sight  it  is  a marvel  how  Paschasius,  even  though 
treading  in  the  steps  of  so  many  who  had  gone  before, 
could  give  a literal  interpretation  to  words  which  Christ 
seems  to  have  used  as  figuratively  as  when  He  said,  “I  am 
the  vine,  ye  are  the  branches.”  A marvel  indeed,  when 
we  think  that  Paschasius  and  all  of  his  generation,  as  well 
as  those  who  went  before,  had  abandoned  themselves  to  the 
most  wonderful  and  far-fetched  allegorical  interpretations  of 
every  historical  and  literal  statement  in  the  Scriptures.  And 
this  same  Paschasius,  and  all  the  rest  too,  do  not  hesitate  to 
interpret  and  explain  by  allegory  the  significance  of  every 
accompanying  act  and  circumstance  of  the  mass.  This 
might  seem  the  climax  of  the  marvel,  but  it  is  a step  toward 
explaining  it.  For  the  literal  interpretation  of  the  phrases 
which  Paschasius  quotes  was  followed  for  the  sake  of  the 
more  absolute  miracle,  the  deeper  mystery,  the  fuller 
florescence  of  encompassing  allegorical  meaning.  Only 
thus  could  be  brought  about  the  transformation  of  the 
palpable  symbol  into  the  miraculous  reality;  and  only  then 
could  that  bread  and  wine  be  what  Cyril  of  Alexandria  and 
others,  five  hundred  years  before  Paschasius,  had  called  it : 
“the  drug  of  immortality.”  Only  through  the  miraculous 
and  real  identity  of  the  elements  of  the  Eucharist  with  the 
body  and  blood  of  Christ  could  they  save  the  souls  of  the 
partakers. 

In  partial  disagreement  with  these  hard  and  fast  con- 
clusions, Ratramnus,  also  of  Corbie,1  and  others  might  still 
try  to  veil  the  matter,  with  utterances  capable  of  more 
equivocal  meaning ; might  try  to  make  it  all  more  dim,  and 
therefore  more  possibly  reasonable.  That  was  not  what  the 
Carolingian  time,  or  the  centuries  to  come,  wanted ; but 
rather  the  definite  tangible  statement,  which  they  could 
grasp  as  readily  as  they  could  see  and  touch  the  elements 

1 Ratramnus,  De  corpore,  etc.  (Migne  121,  col.  125-170). 


228 


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BOOK  II 


before  their  eyes.  In  disenveloping  the  question  and 
conclusion  from  every  wavering  consideration  and  veiling 
ambiguity,  the  Carolingian  period  was  creative  in  this 
Paschal  controversy.  New  propositions  were  not  devised ; 
but  the  old,  such  of  them  as  fitted,  were  put  together  and 
given  the  unity  and  force  of  a projectile. 

It  was  the  same  and  yet  different  with  the  Predestination 
strife.  Gottschalk,  who  raised  the  storm,  stated  doctrines  of 
Augustine.  But  he  set  them  out  naked  and  alone,  with 
nothing  else  as  counterpoise,  as  Augustine  had  not  done. 
Thus  to  draw  a single  doctrine  out  from  the  totality  of  a 
man’s  work  and  the  demonstrative  suggestiveness  of  all  the 
rest  of  his  teachings,  whether  that  man  be  Paul  or  Augustine, 
is  to  present  it  so  as  to  make  it  something  else.  For  thereby 
it  is  left  naked  and  alone,  and  unadjusted  with  the  connected 
and  mitigating  considerations  yielded  by  the  rest  of  the 
man’s  opinions.  Such  a procedure  is  a garbling,  at  least 
in  spirit.  It  is  almost  like  quoting  the  first  half  of  a sentence 
and  leaving  off  everything  following  the  author’s  “but” 
in  the  middle  of  it. 

At  all  events  the  hard  and  fast,  complete  and  twin 
(gemina)  divine  predestination,  unto  hell  as  well  as  heaven, 
was  too  unmitigated  for  the  Carolingian  Church.  This 
doctrine,  and  his  own  intractable  temper,  immured  the 
unhappy  announcer  of  it  in  a monastic  dungeon  till  he  died. 
It  was  monstrous,  as  monstrous  as  transubstantiation,  for 
example ! But  transubstantiation  saved ; and  while  the 
Church  could  stand  the  doctrine  of  the  election  of  the 
Elect  to  salvation,  it  revolted  from  the  counter-inference,  of 
the  election  of  the  damned  to  hell,  which  contradicted  too 
drastically  the  sweet  and  lovely  teaching  that  Christ  died 
for  all.  The  theologians  of  one  and  more  generations  were 
drawn  into  the  strife,  which  was  to  have  a less  definitive 
result  than  the  Paschal  controversy.  Even  to-day  the 
adjustment  of  human  free-will  with  omnipotent  fore- 
knowledge has  not  been  made  quite  clear.1 

There  was  one  man  who  was  drawn  into  the  Predestina- 
tion strife,  although  for  him  it  lacked  cardinal  import.  For 

1 On  the  Carolingian  controversies  upon  Predestination  and  the  Eucharist,  see 
Harnack,  Dogmengeschichte,  vol.  iii.  chap.  vi. 


CHAP.  X 


CAROLIN GIAN  PERIOD 


229 


the  Neo-Platonic  principles  of  John  Scotus  Eriugena  scarcely 
permitted  him  to  see  in  evil  more  than  non-existence,  and 
led  him  to  trace  all  phases  of  reality  downward  from  the 
primal  Source.  His  intellectual  attitude,  interests,  and 
faculties  were  exceptional,  and  yet  nevertheless  partook  of 
the  characteristics  of  his  time,  out  of  which  not  even  an 
Eriugena  could  lift  himself.  He  was  an  Irishman,  who 
came  to  the  Court  of  Charles  the  Bald  on  invitation,  and  for 
many  years,  until  his  orthodoxy  became  too  suspect,  was 
the  head  of  the  Palace  School.  He  may  have  died  about 
the  year  877. 

Eriugena  was  in  the  first  place  a man  of  learning,  widely 
read  in  the  works  of  the  Greek  Fathers.  From  the  Celestial 
Hierarchy  of  Pseudo-Dionysius  and  other  sources,  he  had 
absorbed  huge  draughts  of  Neo-Platonism.  One  must 
not  think  of  him  always  as  an  original  thinker.  A large 
part  of  his  literary  labours  correspond  with  those  of  con- 
temporaries. He  was  a translator  of  the  works  of  Pseudo- 
Dionysius,  for  he  knew  Greek.  Then  he  composed  or 
compiled  Commentaries  upon  those  writings.  He  cared 
supremely  for  the  fruits  of  those  faculties  with  which  he 
was  pre-eminently  endowed.  He,  the  man  of  acquisitive 
powers,  loved  learning;  and  he,  the  man  with  a faculty  of 
constructive  reason,  loved  rational  truth  and  the  labour  of 
its  systematic  and  syllogistic  presentation.  He  ascribed 
primal  validity  to  what  was  true  by  force  of  logic,  and  in 
his  soul  set  reason  above  authority.  Certain  of  his  con- 
temporaries, with  a discernment  springing  from  repugnance, 
perceived  his  self-reliant  intellectual  mood.  The  same 
ground  underlay  their  detestation,  which  centuries  after 
underlay  St.  Bernard’s  for  Abaelard.  That  Abaelard 
should  deem  himself  to  be  something ! here  was  the  root 
of  the  saint’s  abhorrence.  And,  similarly,  good  Deacon 
Florus  of  Lyons  wrote  a vituperative  polemic  quite  as  much 
against  the  man  Eriugena  as  against  his  detestable  views 
of  Predestination.  Eriugena,  forsooth,  would  be  disputing 
with  human  argument,  which  he  draws  from  philosophy, 
and  for  which  he  would  be  accountable  to  none.  He 
proffers  no  authority  from  the  Fathers,  “as  if  daring  to 
define  with  his  own  presumption  what  should  be  held  and 


230 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


followed. ”1  Such  was  not  the  way  that  Carolingian 
Churchmen  liked  to  argue,  but  rather  with  attested  sentences 
from  Augustine  or  Gregory.  Manifestly  Eriugena  was  not 
one  of  them. 

Had  his  works  been  earlier  understood,  they  would  have 
been  earlier  condemned.  But  people  did  not  realize  what 
sort  of  Neo-Platonic,  pantheistic  and  emanational,  principles 
this  Irishman  from  over  the  sea  was  setting  forth.  St.  Denis, 
the  great  saint  who  was  becoming  St.  Denis  of  France,  had 
been  authoritatively  (and  most  preposterously)  identified 
with  Dionysius  the  Areopagite  who  heard  Paul  preach,  and, 
according  to  the  growing  legend,  won  a martyr’s  crown  not 
far  from  Paris.  This  was  set  forth  in  his  Life  by  Abbot 
Hilduin ; 2 this  was  confirmed  by  Hincmar,  the  great  Arch- 
bishop of  Rheims,  who  said,  closing  his  discussion  of  the 
matter:  “veritas  saepius  agitata  magis  splendescit  in 

lucem ! ” 3 Eriugena  seemed  to  be  a translator  of  his  holy 
writings,  and  might  be  regarded  as  a setter  forth  of  his 
exceptionally  resplendent  truths.  He  could  use  the  Fathers’ 
language  too.  So  in  his  book  on  Predestination  he  quotes 
Augustine  as  saying,  Philosophy,  which  is  the  study  of 
wisdom,  is  not  other  than  religion.4  But  he  was  not  going  to 
keep  meaning  what  Augustine  meant.  He  slowly  extends 
his  talons  in  the  following  sentences  which  do  not  stand  at 
the  beginning  of  his  great  work  De  dimsione  naturae. 

Says  the  Magis  ter,  for  the  work  is  in  dialogue  form : 
“You  are  aware,  I suppose,  that  what  is  prior  by  nature  is 
of  greater  dignity  than  what  is  prior  in  time.” 

Answers  Discipulus  : “This  is  known  to  almost  all.” 

Continues  Magister:  “We  learn  that  reason  is  prior  by 
nature,  but  authority  prior  in  time.  For  although  nature 
was  created  at  the  same  moment  with  time,  authority  did 
not  begin  with  the  beginning  of  time  and  nature.  But 
reason  sprang  with  nature  and  time  from  the  beginning  of 
things.” 

Discipulus  clenches  the  matter:  “Reason  itself  teaches 

1 Migne  119,  col.  102.  Florus  called  his  tract  “Libellus  Flori  adversus  cuiusdam 
vanissimi  hominis,  qui  cognominatur  Joannes,  ineptias  et  errores  de  praedestinatione,” 
etc.  Florus  was  a contemporary  of  Eriugena. 

2 Migne  106. 

8 Hincmar,  Ep.  23  (Migne  126,  col.  153). 


4 Migne  122,  col.  357. 


CHAP.  X 


CAROLIN GIAN  PERIOD 


231 


this.  Authority  sometimes  proceeds  from  reason ; but 
reason  never  from  authority.  For  all  authority  which  is  not 
approved  by  true  reason  seems  weak.  But  true  reason,  since 
it  is  stablished  in  its  own  strength,  needs  to  be  strengthened 
by  the  assent  of  no  authority.”  1 

No  doubt  of  the  talons  here ! Reason  superior  to 
authority — is  it  not  also  prior  to  faith?  Eriugena  does  not 
press  that  reversal  of  the  Christian  position.  But  his  De 
dimsione  naturae  was  a reasoned  construction,  although 
of  course  the  materials  were  not  his  own.  It  was  no  loosely 
compiled  encyclopaedia,  such  as  Isidore  or  Bede  or  Rabanus 
would  have  presented  under  such  a title.  It  did  not  describe 
every  object  in  nature  known  to  the  writer ; but  it  discussed 
nature  metaphysically,  and  presented  its  lengthy  exposi- 
tion as  a long  argument  in  linked  syllogistic  form.  Yet 
it  respected  its  borrowed  materials,  and  preserved  their 
characteristics — with  the  exception  of  Scripture,  which 
Eriugena  recognized  as  supreme  authority ! That  he 
interpreted  figuratively  of  course;  so  had  every  one  else 
done.  But  he  differed  from  other  commentators  and  from 
the  Church  Fathers,  in  degree  if  not  in  kind.  For  his  inter- 
pretation was  a systematic  moulding  of  Scriptural  phrase  to 
suit  his  system.  He  transformed  the  meaning  with  as  clear 
a purpose  as  once  Philo  of  Alexandria  had  done.  The  pre- 
Christian  Jew  changed  the  Pentateuch — holding  fast,  of 
course,  to  its  authority ! — into  a Platonic  philosophy ; and 
so,  likewise  by  figurative  interpretations,  Eriugena  turned 
Scripture  into  a semi-Christianized  Neo-Platonic  scheme.2 
The  logical  nature  of  the  man  was  strong  within  him,  so 
strong,  indeed,  that  in  its  working  it  could  not  but  present 
all  topics  as  component  parts  of  a syllogistic  and  system- 
atized philosophy.3  If  he  borrowed  his  materials,  he  also 
made  them  his  own  with  power.  He  appears  as  the  one 

1 De  div.  nat.  i.  69  (Migne  122,  col.  513). 

2 One  may  say  that  the  work  of  Eriugena  in  presenting  Christianity  trans- 
formed in  substance  as  well  as  form,  stood  to  the  work  of  such  a one  as  Thomas 
Aquinas  as  the  work  of  the  Gnostics  in  the  second  century  had  stood  toward  the 
dogmatic  formulation  of  Christianity  by  the  Fathers  of  the  Church.  With  the  Church 
Fathers  as  with  Thomas,  there  was  earnest  endeavour  to  preserve  the  substance  of 
Christianity,  though  presenting  it  in  a changed  form.  This  cannot  be  said  of  either 
the  Gnostics  or  Eriugena. 

3 See  Prantl,  Ges.  dcr  Logik,  ii.  20-36. 


232 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


book  n 


man  of  his  time  that  really  could  build  with  the  material 
received  from  the  past. 

Beyond  the  range  of  these  acute  theological  polemics 
which  we  have  been  considering,  the  pressing  exigencies  of 
political  or  ecclesiastical  controversy  might  cause  a capable 
man  to  think  for  himself  even  in  the  ninth  century.  Such 
a man  was  Claudius,  Bishop  of  Turin,  the  foe  of  image  and 
relic  worship,  and  of  other  superstitions  too  crass  for  one 
who  was  a follower  of  Augustine.1  And  another  such  a 
one  even  more  palpably  was  Agobard,  Archbishop  of  Lyons 
(d.  840),  a brave  and  energetic  man,  clear-seeing  and  en- 
lightened, and  incessantly  occupied  with  questions  of  living 
interest,  to  which  his  nature  responded  more  quickly  than 
to  theologic  lore.  Absorbed  in  the  affairs  of  his  diocese,  of 
the  Church  at  large,  and  of  the  Empire,  he  expresses  views 
which  he  has  made  his  own.  Practical  issues,  operating 
upon  his  mind,  evoked  a personal  originality  of  treatment. 
His  writings  are  clear  illustrations  of  the  originality  which 
actual  issues  aroused  in  the  Carolingian  epoch.  They  were 
directed  against  common  superstitions  and  degraded  religious 
opinion,  or  against  the  Jews  whose  aggressive  prosperity  in 
the  south  of  France  disturbed  him ; or  they  were  political. 
In  fine,  they  were  the  fruit  of  the  living  issue.  For  example, 
his  so-often-cited  pamphlet,  “ Against  the  silly  opinion  of 
the  crowd  as  to  hail  and  thunder,” 2 was  doubtless  called 
forth  by  the  intolerable  conditions  stated  in  the  first 
sentence : 

“In  these  parts  almost  all  men,  noble  and  common,  city  folk 
and  country  folk,  old  and  young,  think  that  hail  storms  and 
thunder  can  be  brought  about  at  the  pleasure  of  men.  People 
say  when  they  hear  thunder  and  see  lightning  ‘Aura  levatitia  est .’ 
When  asked  what  aura  levatitia  may  be,  some  are  ashamed  or 
conscience-stricken,  while  others,  with  the  boldness  of  ignorance, 
assert  that  the  air  is  raised  ( levata ) by  the  incantations  of  men 
called  Tempestarii,  and  so  is  called  ‘raised  air.’  ” 

Agobard  does  not  marshal  physical  explanations  against 
this  folly,  but  texts  of  Scripture  showing  that  God  alone  can 
raise  and  lay  the  storms.  Perhaps  he  thought  such  texts 

1 Claudius  died  about  830.  His  works  are  in  tome  104  of  Migne. 

2 Migne  104,  col.  147-158. 


CHAP.  X 


CAROLIN GIAN  PERIOD 


233 


the  best  arguments  for  those  who  needed  any.  The  manner 
of  the  writing  is  reasonable,  and  the  reader  perceives  that 
the  clear-headed  archbishop,  apart  from  his  Scriptural 
arguments,  deemed  these  notions  ridiculous,  as  well  as 
harmful.1 

In  like  spirit  Agobard  argued  against  trials  by  combat 
and  ordeal.  Undoubtedly,  God  might  thus  announce  His 
righteous  judgment,  but  one  should  not  expect  to  elicit  it  in 
modes  so  opposed  to  justice  and  Scripture;  again,  he  cites 
many  texts  while  also  considering  the  matter  rationally.2 
On  the  other  hand,  his  book  against  image- worship  is  made 
up  of  extracts  from  Augustine  and  other  Church  authorities. 
There  was  no  call  for  originality  here,  when  the  subject 
seemed  to  have  been  so  exhaustively  and  authoritatively 
treated.3 

One  cannot  follow  Agobard  so  comfortably  in  his  ran- 
corous tracts  against  the  Jews.  Doubtless  this  subject 
also  presented  itself  to  him  as  an  exigency  requiring  hand- 
ling, and  he  was  just  in  his  contention  that  heathen  slaves 
belonging  to  Jews  might  be  converted  and  baptized,  and 
then  should  not  be  given  back  to  their  former  masters,  but 
a money  equivalent  be  made  instead.  The  question  was 
important  from  its  frequency.  Yet  one  would  be  loath  to 
approve  his  arguments,  unoriginal  as  they  are.  He  gives 
currency  to  the  common  slanders  against  the  Jews,  and  then 
at  great  length  cites  passages  from  the  Church  Fathers,  to 
show  in  what  detestation  they  held  that  people.  Then  he 
sets  forth  the  abominable  opinions  of  the  hated  race,  and 
ransacks  Scripture  to  prove  that  the  Jews  are  therein 
authoritatively  and  incontestably  condemned.4 

1 Compare  Agobard’s  Ep.  ad  Bartholomaeum  (Migne  104,  col.  179). 

2 Liber  contra  judicium  Dei  (Migne  104,  col.  250-268).  Here  the  powerful 
Hincmar,  Archbishop  of  Rheims,  is  emphatically  on  the  opposite  side,  and  argues 
lengthily  in  support  of  the  judicium  aquae  frigidae,  in  Epist.  26,  Migne  126,  col.  161. 
Hincmar  (cir.  806-882)  was  a man  of  imposing  eminence.  He  was  a great  ecclesi- 
astical statesman.  The  compass  and  character  of  his  writings  is  what  might  be 
expected  from  such  an  archiepiscopal  man  of  affairs.  They  include  edifying 
tracts  for  the  use  of  the  king,  an  authoritative  Life  of  St.  Remi,  and  writings 
theological,  political,  and  controversial.  As  the  writer  was  not  a profound 
thinker,  his  works  have  mainly  that  originality  which  was  impressed  upon  them  by 
the  nature  of  whatever  exigency  called  them  forth.  They  are  contained  in  Migne 
125,  126. 

3 Liber  de  imaginibus  sanctorum  (Migne  104,  col.  199-226). 

4 These  writings  are  also  in  vol.  104  of  Migne. 


234 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


The  years  of  Agobard’s  maturity  belong  to  the  troubled 
time  which  came  with  the  accession  of  the  incompetent 
Louis,  in  814,  to  the  throne  of  his  father  Charlemagne.  In 
the  contentions  and  wars  that  followed,  Agobard  proved 
himself  an  apt  political  partisan  and  writer.  His  political 
tracts,  notwithstanding  their  constant  citation  of  Scripture, 
are  his  own,  and  evince  an  originality  evoked  by  the  situation 
which  they  were  written  to  influence. 

Something  of  the  originality  which  the  pressing  political 
exigency  imparted  to  these  tracts  of  Agobard  might  be 
transmitted  to  such  history  as  was  occupied  with  con- 
temporary events.  As  long  as  the  historian  was  a mere 
excerpting  chronicler  extracting  his  dry  summaries  from  the 
writings  of  former  men,  his  work  would  not  rouse  him  to 
independence  of  conception  or  presentation.  That  would 
have  come  with  criticism  upon  the  old  authorities.  But 
criticism  had  scarcely  begun  to  murmur  among  the  Caro- 
lingians,  too  absorbed  with  the  task  of  grasping  their  inherited 
material  to  weigh  it,  and  too  overawed  by  the  authority  of 
the  past  to  question  the  truth  of  its  transmitted  statements. 
Excerpts,  however,  could  not  be  made  to  tell  the  stirring 
events  of  the  period  in  which  the  Carol ingian  historian  lived. 
He  would  have  to  set  forth  his  own  perception  and  under- 
standing of  them,  and  in  manner  and  language  which  to  a 
less  or  greater  extent  were  his  own : to  a less  extent  with 
those  feebly  beginning  Annals,  or  Year-books,  which  set 
down  the  occurrences  of  cloister  life  or  the  larger  happenings 
of  which  the  report  penetrated  from  the  outer  world ; 1 to  a 
greater  extent,  however,  with  a more  veritable  history  of 
some  topic  of  living  and  coherent  interest.  In  the  latter 
case  the  writer  must  present  his  conception  of  events,  and 
therewith  something  of  himself.2 

1 See  Wattenbach,  Deutschlands  Geschichtsquellen,  i.  130-142  (5th  ed.).  Writ- 
ings known  as  Annales  drew  their  origin  from  the  notes  made  by  monks  upon 
the  margin  of  their  calendars.  These  notes  were  put  together  the  following  year, 
and  subsequently  might  be  revised,  perhaps  by  some  person  of  larger  view  and 
literary  skill.  Thus  the  Annals  found  in  the  cloister  of  Lorsch  are  supposed  to  have 
been  rewritten  in  part  by  Einhart. 

2 There  were  two  great  earlier  examples  of  such  histories : one  was  the  Historia 
Francorum  of  Gregory  of  Tours,  the  author  of  which  was  of  distinguished  Roman 
descent,  born  in  540  and  dying  in  594;  the  other  was  Bede’s  Church  History  of  the 
English  People,  which  was  completed  shortly  before  its  author’s  death  in  735.  In 


CHAP.  X 


C AROLIN GIAN  PERIOD 


235 


An  example  of  this  necessitated  originality  in  the  writing 
of  contemporary  history  is  the  work  of  Count  Nithard. 
He  was  the  son  of  Charlemagne’s  daughter  Bertha  and  of 
Angilbert,  the  emperor’s  counsellor  and  lifelong  friend. 
His  parents  were  not  man  and  wife,  because  Charles  would 
not  let  his  daughters  marry,  from  reasons  of  policy ; but 
the  relationship  between  them  was  open,  and  apparently 
approved  by  the  lady’s  sire.  Angilbert  studied  in  the 
Palace  School  with  Charlemagne,  and  became  himself  a 
writer  of  Latin  verse.  He  was  often  his  sovereign’s  am- 
bassador, and  continued  active  in  affairs  until  his  closing 
years,  when  he  became  the  lay-abbot  of  a rich  monastery  in 
Picardy,  and  received  his  emperor  and  virtual  father-in-law 
as  his  guest.  He  died  the  same  year  with  Charles. 

Like  his  father,  Nithard  was  educated  at  the  Palace 
School,  perhaps  with  his  cousin  who  was  to  become  Charles 
the  Bald.  His  loyalty  continued  staunch  to  that  king, 
whose  tried  confidant  he  became.  He  was  a diplomatist 
and  a military  leader  in  the  wars  following  the  death  of 
Louis  the  Pious ; and  he  felt  impelled  to  present  from  his 
side  the  story  of  the  strife  among  the  sons  of  Louis,  in 
“ four  books  of  histories”  as  they  grew  to  be.1  Involved 
with  his  king  in  that  same  hurricane  ( eodem  turbine ) he 
describes  those  stormy  times  which  they  were  fighting  out 
together  even  while  he  was  writing.  This  man  of  action 
could  not  but  present  himself,  his  views,  his  temperament, 
in  narrating  the  events  he  moved  in.  Throughout,  one 
perceives  the  pen  of  the  participant,  in  this  case  an  honest 
partisan  of  his  king,  and  the  enemy  of  those  whose  conduct 
had  given  the  divided  realm  over  to  rapine.  So  the  vigorous 
narrative  of  this  noble  Frank  partakes  of  the  originality 
which  inheres  in  the  writings  of  men  of  action  when  their 
literary  faculty  is  sufficient  to  enable  them  to  put  themselves 
into  their  compositions. 

Engaged,  as  we  have  been,  with  the  intellectual  or 
scholarly  interests  of  the  Carolingian  period,  we  should  not 

individuality  and  picturesqueness  of  narrative,  these  two  works  surpass  all  the  his- 
torical writing  of  the  Carolingian  time. 

1 In  Mon.  Germ.  Flist.  Scrip,  ii. ; also  Migne,  vol.  116,  col.  45-76;  trans.  in  Ger- 
man in  Geschichlsschreiber  der  deutschen  Vorzeit  (Leipzig).  See  also  Wattenbach, 
Deutschlands  Geschichtsquellen,  i.,  and  Ebert,  Ges.  der  Lit.  ii.  370  sqq. 


236 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


forget  how  slender  in  numbers  were  the  men  who  promoted 
them,  and  how  few  were  the  places  where  they  throve. 
There  was  the  central  group  of  open-minded  laymen  and 
Churchmen  about  the  palace  school,  or  following  the  Court 
in  its  journeyings,  which  were  far  and  swift.  Then  there 
were  monastic  or  episcopal  centres  of  education  as  at  Tours, 
or  Rheims,  or  Fulda.  The  scholars  carried  from  the  schools 
their  precious  modicum  of  knowledge,  and  passed  on 
through  life  as  educated  men  living  in  the  world,  or  dwelt 
as  learned  compilers,  reading  in  the  cloister.  But  scant 
were  the  rays  of  their  enlightening  influence  amidst  that 
period’s  vast  encompassing  ignorance. 

To  have  classified  the  Carolingian  intellectual  interests 
according  to  topics  would  have  been  misleading,  since  that 
would  have  introduced  a fictitious  element  of  individual 
preference  and  aptitude,  as  if  the  Carolingian  scholar  of  his 
spontaneous  volition  occupied  himself  with  mathematical 
studies  rather  than  grammar,  or  with  astronomy  rather  than 
theology.  In  general,  all  was  a matter  of  reading  and 
learning  from  such  books  as  Isidore’s  Origines,  which 
handled  all  topics  indiscriminately,  or  from  Bede,  or  from 
the  works  of  Augustine  or  Gregory,  in  which  every  topic 
did  but  form  part  of  the  encyclopaedic  presentation  of  the 
relationship  between  the  soul  and  God,  and  the  soul’s  way 
to  salvation. 

What  then  did  these  men  care  for?  Naturally,  first  of 
all,  for  the  elements  of  their  primary  education,  their  studies 
in  the  Seven  Arts.  They  did  what  they  might  with  Grammar 
and  Rhetoric,  and  with  Dialectic,  which  sometimes  was 
Rhetoric  and  formal  Logic  joined.  Logic,  for  those  who 
studied  it  seriously,  was  beginning  to  form  an  important 
mental  discipline.  The  four  branches  of  the  quadrivium 
were  pursued  more  casually.  Knowledge  of  arithmetic, 
geometry,  music,  and  astronomy  (one  may  throw  in  medicine 
as  a fifth)  was  as  it  might  be  in  the  individual  instance — 
always  rudimentary,  and  usually  rather  less  than  more. 

All  of  this,  however,  and  it  was  not  very  much,  was  but 
the  preparation,  if  the  man  was  to  be  earnest  in  his  pursuit 
of  wisdom.  Wisdom  lay  chiefly  in  Theology,  to  wit,  the 
whole  saving  contents  of  Scripture  as  understood  and 


CHAP.  X 


CAROLIN GIAN  PERIOD 


237 


interpreted  by  Gregory  and  Augustine.  There  was  little 
mortal  knowledge  which  this  range  of  Scriptural  interpreta- 
tion might  not  include.  It  compassed  such  knowledge  of 
the  physical  world  as  would  enable  one  to  understand  the 
work  of  Creation  set  forth  in  Genesis;  it  embraced  all  that 
could  be  known  of  man,  of  his  physical  nature,  and  assuredly 
of  his  spiritual  part.  Here  Christian  truth  might  call  on 
the  better  pagan  philosophy  for  illustration  and  rational 
corroboration,  so  far  as  that  did  corroborate.  When  it  did 
not,  it  was  pernicious  falsity. 

So  Christian  piety  viewed  the  matter.  But  the  pious 
commonly  have  their  temporal  fancies,  sweet  as  stolen  fruit. 
These  Carolingian  scholars,  the  man  in  orders  and  the  man 
without,  studied  the  Latin  poets,  historians,  and  orators. 
Among  them  were  ardent  humanists  like  Servatus  Lupus ; 1 
who  loved  the  classics  for  their  human  message.  And  in 
their  imaginative  or  poetic  moods,  as  they  followed  classic 
metre,  so  they  reproduced  classic  phrase  and  sentiment  in 
their  verses.  The  men  who  made  such — it  might  be  Alcuin, 
or  Theodulphus,  or  Walafrid  Strabo — chose  what  they 
would  as  the  subject  of  their  poems ; but  the  presentation 
took  form  and  phrase  from  Virgil  and  other  old  poets.  The 
antique  influence  so  strong  in  the  Carolingian  period,  in- 
cluded much  more  than  matters  of  elegant  culture,  like 
poetry  and  art,  or  even  rhetoric  and  grammar.  It  held  the 
accumulated  experience  in  law  and  institution,  which  still 
made  part  of  the  basis  of  civic  life.  Rabanus  Maurus 
recognized  it  thus  broadly.  And,  thus  largely  taken,  the 
antique  survives  in  the  Carolingian  time  as  a co-ordinate 
dominant  with  Latin  Christianity.  Neither,  as  yet,  was 
affected  by  the  solvent  processes  of  transmutation  into  new 
human  faculty  and  power.  None  the  less,  this  same  antique 
survival  was  destined  to  pass  into  modes  and  forms  belonging 
quite  as  much  to  the  Middle  Ages  as  to  antiquity;  and, 
thus  recast,  it  was  to  become  a broadening  and  informing 
element  in  the  mediaeval  personality. 

Likewise  with  the  patristic  Christianity  which  had  been 

1 His  letters  show  sympathetic  knowledge  of  Livy,  Sallust,  Caesar,  Cicero,  Virgil, 
Martial  and  other  classics.  They  are  printed  in  Migne,  Pat.  Lat.,  t.  119.  A sketch 
of  Lupus  is  given  by  Mullinger,  Schools  of  Charles  the  Great,  chap.  iv. 


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transmitted  to  the  Carolingian  time,  to  be  then  and  there 
not  only  conned  and  studied,  but  also  rearranged  by  these 
painful  students,  so  that  they  and  their  successors  might  the 
better  comprehend  it.  It  was  not  for  them  to  change  the 
patristic  forms  organically,  by  converting  them  into  the 
modes  of  mediaeval  understanding  of  the  same.  These 
would  be  devised,  or  rather  achieved,  by  later  men,  living  in 
centuries  when  the  patristic  heritage  of  doctrine,  long  held 
and  cherished,  had  permeated  the  whole  spiritual  natures  of 
mediaeval  men  and  women,  and  had  been  itself  transmuted 
in  what  it  had  transformed.1 

1 S.  Hellmann  in  his  Sedulius  Scottus  ( Quellen , etc.,  zur  latein.  Philol.,  Munich 
1906),  gives  a critical  text  of  Sedulius’  politico-ecclesiastical  tract,  De  rectoribus 
Christianis,  and  discusses  Carolingian  political  writing. 


CHAPTER  XI 

MENTAL  ASPECTS  OF  THE  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  ITALY 

I.  From  Charlemagne  to  Hildebrand. 

II.  The  Human  Situation. 

III.  The  Italian  Continuity  of  Antique  Culture. 

IV.  Italy’s  Intellectual  Piety:  Peter  Damiani  and 

St.  Anselm. 


I 

The  Empire  of  Charlemagne  could  not  last.  Two  obvious 
causes,  among  others,  were  enough  to  prevent  it.  No  single 
government  (save  when  temporarily  energized  by  some  ex- 
traordinary ruler)  could  control  such  enormous  and  widely 
separated  regions,  which  included  much  of  the  present 
Germany  and  Austria,  the  greater  part  of  Italy,  France, 
and  the  Low  Countries.  Large  portions  of  this  Empire 
were  almost  trackless,  and  nowhere  were  there  good  roads 
and  means  of  transportation.  Then,  as  the  second  cause, 
within  these  diverse  and  ununited  lands  dwelt  or  moved 
many  peoples  differing  from  each  other  in  blood  and  language, 
in  conditions  of  life  and  degrees  of  civilization  or  barbarism. 
No  power  existed  that  could  either  hold  them  in  subjection 
or  make  them  into  proper  constituents  of  an  Empire.1 

There  were  other,  more  particular,  causes  of  dissolution : 
the  Frankish  custom  of  partitioning  the  realm  brought  war 
between  Louis  the  Pious  and  his  sons,  and  then  among  the 

1 In  both  these  respects  a contrary  condition  had  made  possible  the  endurance 
of  the  Roman  Empire.  Its  territories  in  the  main  were  civilized,  and  were 
traversed  by  the  best  of  roads,  while  many  of  them  lay  about  that  ancient  common  high- 
way of  peoples,  the  Mediterranean.  Then  the  whole  Empire  was  leavened,  and  one 
part  made  capable  of  understanding  another,  by  the  Graeco-Roman  culture. 

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latter;  no  scion  of  the  Carolingian  house  was  equal  to  the 
situation;  under  the  ensuing  turbulence,  the  royal  power 
weakened,  and  local  protection,  or  oppression,  took  its  place ; 
constant  war  exhausted  the  strength  of  the  Empire,  and 
particularly  of  Austrasia,  while  from  without  Norsemen, 
Slavs,  and  Saracens  were  attacking,  invading,  plundering 
everywhere.  These  marauders  still  were  heathen,  or  ob- 
stinate followers  of  the  Prophet;  while  Christianity  was 
the  bond  of  unity  and  empire.  Charlemagne  and  his  strong 
predecessors  had  been  able  thus  to  view  and  use  the  Church ; 
but  the  weaker  successors,  beginning  with  Louis  the  Pious, 
too  eager  for  the  Church’s  aid  and  condonation,  found  their 
subservience  as  a reed  that  broke  and  pierced  the  hand. 

These  causes  quickly  brought  about  the  Empire’s  actual 
dissolution.  On  the  other  hand,  a potent  conception  had 
been  revived  in  western  Europe.  Louis  the  Pious,  himself 
made  emperor  in  Charlemagne’s  lifetime,  associated  his 
eldest  son  with  him  as  co-emperor,  and  made  his  two  younger 
sons  kings,  hoping  thus  to  preserve  the  Empire’s  unity.  If 
that  unity  forthwith  became  a name,  it  was  a name  to 
conjure  with ; and  the  corresponding  imperial  fact  was  to 
be  again  made  actual  by  the  first  Saxon  Otto,  a man  worthy 
to  reach  back  across  the  years  and  clasp  the  hand  of  the  great 
Charles. 

That  intervening  century  and  a half  preceding  the  year 
962  when  Otto  was  crowned  emperor,  carried  political  and 
social  changes.  To  the  West,  in  the  old  Neustrian  kingdom 
which  was  to  form  the  nucleus  of  mediaeval  France,  the 
Carolingian  line  ran  out  in  degenerates  surnamed  the  Pious, 
the  Bald,  the  Stammerer,  the  Simple,  and  the  Fat.  The 
Counts  of  Paris,  Odo,  Robert,  Hugh  the  Great,  and,  finally, 
Hugh  Capet,  playing  something  like  the  old  role  of  the 
palace  mayors,  were  becoming  the  actual  rulers,  although 
not  till  987  was  the  last-named  Hugh  formally  elected  and 
anointed  king. 

Other  great  houses  also  had  arisen  through  the  land  of 
France,  which  was  very  far  from  being  under  the  power  of  the 
last  Carolingians  or  the  first  Capetians.  The  year  91 1 saw 
the  treaty  between  Norman  Rollo  and  Charles  the  Simple, 
and  may  be  taken  to  symbolize  the  settling  down  of  Norse- 


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241 


men  from  freebooters  to  denizens,  with  a change  of  faith. 
Rollo  received  the  land  between  the  Epte  and  the  sea,  to 
the  borders  of  Brittany,  along  with  temporary  privileges, 
granted  by  the  same  Simple  Charles,  of  sack  and  plunder 
over  the  latter.  But  a generation  later  the  valiant  Count 
Alan  of  the  Twisted  Beard  drove  out  the  plunderers,  and 
established  the  feudal  duchy  long  to  bear  the  name  of 
Brittany.  Likewise,  aided  by  the  need  of  protection  against 
invading  plunderers,  feudal  principalities  were  formed  in 
Flanders,  Champagne,  Burgundy,  Aquitaine,  Languedoc. 

At  the  time  when  Hugh  Capet  drew  near  his  royal  destiny, 
his  brother  was  Duke  of  Burgundy,  the  Dukes  of  Normandy 
and  Aquitaine  were  his  brothers-in-law,  and  Adalberon, 
Archbishop  of  Rheims,  was  his  partisan.  As  a king  elected 
by  his  peers,  his  royal  rights  were  only  such  as  sprang  from 
the  feudal  homage  and  fidelity  which  they  tendered  him. 
Yet  he,  with  the  clergy,  deemed  that  his  consecration  by  the 
Church  gave  him  the  prerogatives  of  Frankish  sovereigns, 
which  were  patterned  on  those  of  Roman  emperors  and  Old 
Testament  kings.  It  was  to  be  the  long  endeavour  of  the 
Capetian  line  to  make  good  these  higher  claims  against  the 
counter-assumptions  of  feudal  vassals,  who  individually 
might  be  stronger  than  the  king.1 

Austrasia,  the  eastern  Frankish  kingdom,  formed  the 
centre  of  those  portions  of  the  Carolingian  Empire  which 
were  to  remain  German.  Throughout  these  lands,  as  in  the 
West,  feudal  disintegration  was  progressing.  The  great 
territorial  divisions  were  set  by  differences  of  race  or  stamm. 
Saxons,  Franks,  Bavarians,  Suabians,  had  never  been  one 
people.  In  the  tenth  century  each  of  these  stamms,  with 
the  land  it  dwelt  in,  made  a dukedom ; and  there  were 
besides  marks  or  frontier  lordships,  each  under  its  mark- 
grave,  upon  whom  lay  the  duty  of  repelling  outer  foes. 
These  divisions,  fixed  in  differences  of  law,  language,  and 
blood,  were  destined  to  prevent  the  formation  of  a strong 
kingdom  like  that  of  France. 

Yet  what  was  to  prove  a veritable  German  royalty 


1 Within  his  hereditary  domain,  Hugh  had  the  powers  of  other  feudal  lords ; 
but  this  domain,  instead  of  expanding,  tended  to  shrink  under  the  reigns  of  the 
Capetians  of  the  eleventh  century. 

VOL.  I 


R 


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sprang  from  the  ducal  Saxon  house.  Upon  the  failure  of 
the  German  Carolingian  branch  in  91 1,  Conrad,  Duke  of 
Franconia,  was  elected  king,  the  Saxons  and  Suabians  con- 
senting. After  struggling  a few  years,  mainly  against  the 
power  of  the  Saxon  duke  Henry,  Conrad  at  his  death  in  918 
pronounced  in  favour  of  his  stronger  rival.  Thereupon 
Henry,  called  by  later  legend  “The  Fowler/’  became  king, 
and  having  maintained  his  royal  authority  against  recal- 
citrants, and  fought  successfully  with  Hungarians  and 
Bohemians,  he  died  in  936,  naming  his  son  Otto  as  his 
successor. 

The  latter’s  reign  was  to  be  a long  and  great  one.  He 
was  consecrated  at  Aix-la-Chapelle  in  Charlemagne’s  basilica, 
thus  at  the  outset  showing  what  and  whom  he  had  in  mind. 
Then  and  thereafter  all  manner  of  internal  opposition  had 
to  be  suppressed.  His  own  competing  brothers  were,  first 
of  all,  to  be  put  down ; and  with  them  the  Dukes  of  Bavaria, 
Franconia,  and  Lorraine,  whom  Otto  conquered  and  re- 
placed with  men  connected  with  him  by  ties  of  blood  or 
marriage.  Far  to  the  West  he  made  his  power  felt,  settling 
affairs  between  Louis  and  Hugh  the  Great.  Hungarians  and 
Slavs  attacked  his  realm  in  vain.  New  marks  were  estab- 
lished to  hold  them  in  check,  and  new  bishoprics  were 
founded,  fonts  of  missionary  Christianity  and  fortresses  of 
defence. 

Thereupon  Otto  looked  southward,  over  the  Alps.  To 
say  that  Italy  was  sick  with  turmoil  and  corruption,  and 
exposed  to  the  attack  of  every  foe,  is  to  give  but  the  negative 
and  least  interesting  side.  She  held  more  of  civilized  life 
and  of  education  than  any  northern  land ; she  differed  from 
the  north  in  her  politics  and  institutions.  Feudalism  was 
not  so  universal  there,  nor  so  deeply  rooted,  as  in  the  north ; 
although  the  Roman  barons,  who  made  and  unmade  popes, 
represented  it;  and  in  many  regions,  as  later  among  the 
Normans  in  the  south,  there  was  to  be  a feudal  land-holding 
nobility.  But  in  Italy,  it  was  the  city,  whether  under  civic 
or  episcopal  government,  or  in  a despot’s  grip,  that  took  the 
lead,  and  was  to  keep  the  life  of  the  peninsula  predominantly 
urban,  as  it  had  been  in  the  Roman  time. 

Tenth-century  Italy  contained  enough  claimants  to  the 


chap,  xi  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  ITALY 


243 


royal,  even  the  imperial,  title.  Rome  reeked  with  faction; 
and  the  papal  power  was  nearly  snuffed  out.  Pope  followed 
pope,  to  reign  or  be  dragged  from  his  throne — eight  of  them 
between  896  and  904.  Then  began  at  Rome  the  domination 
of  the  notorious,  but  virile,  Theodora  and  her  daughter 
Marozia,  makers  and  perhaps  mistresses  of  popes,  and  leaders 
in  feudal  violence.  Marozia  married  a certain  valiant 
Alberic,  “markgrave  of  Camerino”  and  forerunner  of  many 
a later  Italian  soldier  and  tyrant  of  fortune.  When  he  fell, 
she  married  again,  and  overthrew  Pope  John  X.,  who  had 
got  the  better  of  her  first  husband.  In  931  she  made  her  son 
pope  as  John  XI.  For  yet  a third  husband  she  took  a certain 
King  Hugo,  a Burgundian;  but  another  son  of  hers,  a 
second  Alberic,  roused  the  city,  drove  him  out,  and  pro- 
claimed himself  “ Prince  and  Senator  of  all  the  Romans.” 

It  was  in  this  Italy  that  Otto  intervened,  in  951,  drawn 
perhaps  by  the  wrongs  of  Queen  Adelaide,  widow  of  Hugo’s 
son,  Lothaire,  a landless  king,  since  Markgrave  Berengar  had 
ousted  him  from  his  Italian  holdings.  This  Berengar  now 
persecuted  and  imprisoned  the  queen-widow.  She  escaped; 
Otto  descended  from  the  Alps,  and  married  her;  Lombardy 
submitted ; Berengar  fled.  This  time  Otto  did  not  advance 
to  Rome,  being  impeded  by  many  things — Alberic’s  refusal 
to  admit  him,  and  behind  his  back  in  Germany  the  rebellion 
of  his  own  son  Liudolf  aided  by  the  Archbishop  of  Mainz, 
and  later  by  those  whom  Otto  left  in  Italy  to  represent  him 
as  he  hurried  north.  These  were  straitened  times  for  the 
king,  and  the  Hungarians  poured  over  the  boundaries  to 
take  advantage  of  the  confusion.  But  Otto’s  star  triumphed 
over  both  rebels  and  Hungarians — a bloody  star  for  the 
latter,  as  the  plains  of  Lech  might  testify,  where  they  were 
so  handled  that  they  never  ravaged  German  lands  again. 

Otto’s  power  now  reached  its  zenith.  He  reordered  the 
German  dukedom,  filled  the  archbishoprics  with  faithful 
servants,  bound  the  German  clergy  to  himself  with  gifts 
and  new  foundations,  and  ruled  them  like  another  Charle- 
magne. It  was  his  time  to  become  emperor,  an  emperor  like 
Charlemagne,  and  not  like  later  weaklings.  In  961  he  again 
entered  Italy,  to  be  greeted  with  universal  acclaim  as  by 
men  longing  for  a deliverer.  He  was  crowned  king  in  Pavia ; 


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the  levies  of  the  once  more  hostile  Berengar  dispersed  before 
him.  In  February  962  he  was  anointed  emperor  at  Rome  by 
John  XII.,  son  of  that  second  Alberic  who  had  refused  to 
open  the  gates,  but  whose  debauched  son  had  called  for  aid 
upon  the  mighty  German.  Once  more  the  Holy  Roman 
Empire  of  the  Germans  was  refounded  to  endure  a while 
with  power,  and  continue  a titular  existence  for  eight 
centuries. 

The  power  of  the  first  Otto  was  so  overwhelming  that 
the  papacy  could  not  escape  the  temporary  subjection  which 
its  vile  state  deserved.  And  the  Empire  was  its  honest 
patron,  for  the  good  of  both.  So  on  through  the  reigns  of 
Otto  II.,  who  died  in  983,  aged  twenty-eight,  and  his  son 
Otto  III.,  who  died  in  1002,  at  the  age  of  twenty-two,  a 
dreamer  and  would-be  universal  potentate.  Then  came  the 
practical-minded  rule  of  the  second  Henry  (1002-1024),  who 
still  aided  and  humbly  ruled  the  Church.  Conrad  II.,  of 
Franconia,  followed,  faithful  to  the  imperial  tradition.1 
He  was  succeeded  in  1039  by  his  son  Henry  III.,  beneficent 
and  prosperous,  if  not  far-seeing,  who  again  cared  for  both 
Church  and  State,  and  imperially  constrained  the  papacy, 
itself  impotent  in  the  grip  of  the  Roman  barons  and  the 
Counts  of  Tusculum.  Henry  did  not  hesitate  to  clear  away 
at  once  three  rival  popes  (1046)  and  name  a German, 
Clement  II.  It  was  this  worthy  man,  but  still  more  another 
German,  his  successor,  Leo  IX  (1049-1054),  who  lifted  the 
papacy  from  its  Italian  mire,  and  launched  it  full  on  its 
course  toward  an  absolute  spiritual  supremacy  that  was  to 
carry  the  temporal  control  of  kings  and  princes.  But  the 
man  already  at  the  helm  was  a certain  deacon  Hildebrand, 
who  was  destined  to  guide  the  papal  policy  through  the 
reigns  of  successive  popes  until  he  himself  was  hailed  as 
Gregory  VII.  (1073-1085).2 

With  Hildebrand’s  pontificate,  which  in  truth  began 
before  he  sat  in  Peter’s  chair,  the  reforming  spirits  among 

1 In  Conrad’s  reign  “Burgundy,”  comprising  most  of  the  eastern  and  southern 
regions  of  France,  and  with  Lyons  and  Marseilles,  as  well  as  Basle  and  Geneva  within 
its  boundaries,  was  added  to  the  Empire. 

2 Papal  elections  were  freed  from  lay  control,  and  a great  step  made  towards 
the  emancipation  of  the  entire  Church,  by  the  decree  of  Nicholas  II.  in  1059,  by  which 
the  election  of  the  popes  was  committed  to  the  conclave  of  cardinals. 


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245 


the  clergy,  aroused  to  his  keen  policy,  set  themselves  to 
the  uplifting  of  their  order.  In  all  countries  the  Church, 
heavy  with  its  possessions,  seemed  about  to  become  feudal 
and  secular.  Bishops  and  abbots  were  appointed  by  kings 
and  the  great  feudatories,  and  were  by  them  invested  with 
their  lands  as  fiefs,  for  which  the  clerical  appointee  did 
homage,  and  undertook  to  perform  feudal  duties.  Church 
fiefs  failed  to  become  hereditary  only  because  bishops  and 
abbots  could  not  marry ; yet  in  fact  great  numbers  of  the 
lower  clergy  lived  in  a state  of  marriage  or  “ concubinage.” 
Evidently  the  celibacy  of  the  clergy  was  a vital  issue  in 
Church  reform ; and  so  were  investitures  and  the  matter  of 
simony.  Under  mediaeval  conditions,  the  most  open  form 
of  this  “ heresy”  called  after  Simon  Magus  was  the  large 
gift  from  the  new  incumbent  to  his  feudal  lord  who  had 
invested  him  with  abbey  or  bishopric.  Such  simony  was 
not  wrong  from  the  feudal  point  of  view,  and  might  properly 
represent  the  duty  of  bishop  or  abbot  to  his  lord. 

Obviously,  for  the  reform  and  emancipation  of  the 
Church,  and  in  order  that  it  should  become  a world-power, 
and  not  remain  a semi-secular  local  institution  in  each  land, 
it  was  necessary  that  the  three  closely  connected  corruptions 
of  simony,  lay  investitures,  and  clerical  concubinage  should 
be  destroyed.  The  papacy  addressed  itself  to  this  enormous 
task  under  the  leadership  of  Hildebrand.1  In  his  pontificate 
the  struggle  with  the  supreme  representative  of  secular 
power,  to  wit,  the  Empire,  came  to  a head  touching  investi- 
tures. Gregory’s  secular  opponent  was  Henry  IV.,  of  tragic 
and  unseemly  fame ; for  whom  the  conflict  proved  to  be  the 
road  by  which  he  reached  Canossa,  dragged  by  the  Pope’s 
anathema,  and  also  driven  to  this  shame  by  a rebellious 
Germany  (1076-1077).  Henry  was  conquered,  although  a 
revulsion  of  the  long-swaying  war  drove  Gregory  from  Rome, 
to  die  an  exile  for  the  cause  which  he  deemed  that  of 
righteousness. 

Between  the  papacy  and  the  secular  power  represented 
in  this  struggle  by  the  Empire,  a peaceful  co-equality  could 
not  exist.  The  superiority  of  the  spiritual  and  eternal  over 

1 For  the  matter  of  clerical  celibacy,  and  the  part  played  by  monasticism  in  these 
reforms,  see  post,  Chapter  XVI. 


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the  carnal  and  temporal  had  to  be  vindicated ; and  in  terms 
admitting  neither  limit  nor  condition,  Hildebrand  main- 
tained the  Church’s  universal  jurisdiction  upon  earth.  The 
authority  granted  by  Christ  to  Peter  and  his  successors,  the 
popes,  was  absolutely  for  eternity.  Should  it  not  include  the 
passing  moment  of  mortal  life,  important  only  because 
determining  man’s  eternal  lot?  The  divine  grant  was  made 
without  qualification  or  exception  in  saeculo  as  well  as  for 
the  life  to  come.  If  spiritual  men  are  under  the  Pope’s 
jurisdiction,  shall  he  not  also  constrain  secular  folk  from 
their  wickedness?1  Were  kings  excepted  when  the  Lord 
said,  Thou  art  Peter?2  Nay;  the  salvation  of  souls 
demands  that  the  Pope  shall  have  full  authority  in  terra 
to  suppress  the  waves  of  pride  with  the  arms  of  humility. 
The  dictatus  papae  of  the  year  1075  make  the  Pope  the  head 
of  the  Christian  world : the  Roman  Church  was  founded  by 
God  alone ; the  Roman  pontiff  alone  by  right  is  called 
universal ; he  alone  may  use  the  imperial  insignia;  his  feet 
alone  shall  be  kissed  by  all  princes ; he  may  depose  emperors 
and  release  subjects  from  fealty;  and  he  can  be  judged  by 
no  man.3 

In  the  century  and  a half  following  Gregory’s  reign  the 
papacy  well-nigh  attained  the  realization  of  the  claims  made 
by  this  great  upbuilder  of  its  power.4  Constantine’s  forged 
donation  was  outdone  in  fact;  and  the  furthest  hopes  of 
Leo  I.  and  the  first,  second,  and  third  Gregories  were  more 
than  realized. 


II 

One  might  liken  the  Carolingian  period  to  a vessel  at  her 
dock,  taking  on  her  cargo,  casks  of  antique  culture  and 

1 Gregory  VII.,  Ep.  iv.  2 (Migne  148,  col.  455). 

2 Ep.  viii.  21  (Migne  148,  col.  594). 

3 Migne  148,  col.  407,  408,  and  in  Jaffe,  Regesta  Pontijicum.  The  Dictatus  is 
thought  by  many  to  have  been  composed  by  Cardinal  Deusdedit  a few  years  later. 
Cf.  post , Chapter  XXXIV.,  iv. 

4 As  between  the  Empire  and  the  Papacy  the  particular  struggle  over  investi- 
tures was  adjusted  by  the  Concordat  of  Worms  (1122),  by  which  the  Church  should 
choose  her  bishops ; but  the  elections  were  to  be  held  in  the  presence  of  the  king,  who 
conferred,  by  special  investiture,  the  temporal  fiefs  and  privileges.  For  translations 
of  Gregory’s  Letters  and  other  matter,  see  J.  H.  Robinson’s  Readings  in  European 
History,  i.  274-293. 


chap,  xi  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  ITALY 


247 


huge  crates  of  patristic  theology.  Then  western  Europe  in 
the  eleventh  century  would  be  the  same  vessel  getting  under 
way,  well  started  on  the  mediaeval  ocean. 

This  would  be  one  way  of  putting  the  matter.  A closer 
simile  already  used  is  the  likening  of  the  Carolingian  period 
to  the  lusty  schoolboy  learning  his  lessons,  thinking  very 
little  for  himself.  By  the  eleventh  century  he  will  have 
left  school,  though  still  impressionable,  still  with  much  to 
learn;  but  he  has  begun  to  turn  his  conned  lessons  over  in 
his  mind,  and  to  think  a little  in  the  terms  of  what  he  has 
acquired — has  even  begun  to  select  therefrom  tentatively, 
and  still  under  the  mastery  of  the  whole.  He  perceives  the 
charm  of  the  antique  culture,  of  the  humanly  inspiring 
literature,  so  exhaustless  in  its  profane  fascinations;  he  is 
realizing  the  spiritual  import  of  the  patristic  share  of  his 
instruction,  and  already  feels  the  power  of  emotion  which 
lay  implicit  in  the  Latin  formulation  of  the  Christian  Faith. 
Withal  he  is  beginning  to  evolve  an  individuality  of  his  own. 

Speaking  more  explicitly,  it  should  be  said  that  instead 
of  one  such  hopeful  youth  there  are  several,  or  rather  groups 
of  them,  differing  widely  from  each  other.  The  forefathers 
of  certain  of  these  groups  were  civilized  and  educated  men, 
at  home  in  the  antique  and  patristic  curriculum  with  which 
our  youths  are  supposed  to  have  been  busy.  The  fore- 
fathers of  other  groups  were  rustics,  or  rude  herdsmen  and 
hunters,  hard-hitting  warriors,  who  once  had  served,  but 
more  latterly  had  rather  lorded  it  over,  the  cultivated 
forbears  of  the  others.  Still,  again,  the  forefathers  of  other 
numerous  groups  had  been  partly  cultivated  and  partly  rude. 
Evidently  these  groups  of  youths  are  diverse  in  blood  and 
in  ancestral  traits ; evidently  also  the  antique  and  patristic 
curriculum  is  quite  a new  thing  to  some  of  them,  while 
others  had  it  at  their  fathers’  knees. 

Our  different  youthful  groups  represent  Italians, 
Germans,  and  the  inhabitants  of  France  and  the  British 
Isles.  One  may  safely  speak  of  the  ninth-century  Germans 
as  schoolboys  just  brought  face  to  face  with  Christianity 
and  the  antique  culture.  So  with  the  Saxon  stock  in 
England.  The  propriety  is  not  so  clear  as  to  the  Italians ; 
for  they  are  not  newly  introduced  to  these  matters.  Yet 


248 


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their  household  affairs  have  been  disturbed,  and  they  them- 
selves have  slackened  in  their  study.  So  they  too  have 
much  to  learn  anew,  and  may  be  regarded  as  truants, 
dirtied  and  muddied,  and  perhaps  refreshed,  by  the  scrambles 
of  their  time  of  truancy,  and  now  returning  to  lessons  which 
they  have  pretty  well  forgotten. 

Obviously,  in  considering  the  intellectual  condition  of 
western  Europe  in  the  tenth  and  eleventh  centuries,  it  will 
be  convenient  to  regard  each  country  in  turn : and,  besides, 
a geographical  is  more  appropriate  than  a topical  arrange- 
ment, because  there  was  still  little  choice  of  one  branch  of 
discipline  rather  than  another.  The  majority  still  were 
conning  indiscriminately  what  had  come  from  the  past, 
studying  heterogeneous  matters  in  the  same  books,  the 
same  forlorn  compendia.  They  read  the  Etymologies  of 
Isidore  or  the  corresponding  works  of  Bede,  and  followed 
as  of  course  the  Trivium  and  Quadrivium.  In  sacred 
learning  they  might  read  the  Scriptural  Commentaries  of 
Rabanus  Maurus  or  Walafrid  Strabo,  or  study  the  works 
of  Augustine.  This  was  still  the  supreme  study,  and  all 
else,  properly  viewed,  was  ancillary  to  it.  Nevertheless,  as 
between  sacred  study  and  profane  literature,  an  even  violent 
divergence  of  choice  existed.  Everywhere  there  were  men 
who  loved  the  profanities  in  themselves,  and  some  who  felt 
that  for  their  souls’  sake  they  must  abjure  them. 

For  further  diverging  lines  of  preference,  one  should 
wait  for  the  twelfth  century.  Many  men  will  then  be  found 
absorbed  in  religious  study,  while  others  cultivate  logic  and 
metaphysics,  with  the  desire  for  knowledge  more  active 
than  the  fear  of  hell.  Still  others  will  study  “grammar” 
and  the  classics,  or,  again,  with  conscious  specializing  choice 
devote  their  energies  to  the  civil  or  the  canon  law.  In  later 
chapters,  and  mainly  with  reference  to  this  culminating 
mediaeval  time  which  includes  the  twelfth,  the  thirteenth, 
and  at  least,  for  Dante’s  sake,  the  first  part  of  the  fourteenth, 
century,  we  shall  review  these  various  branches  of  intellectual 
endeavour  in  topical  order.  But  for  the  earlier  time  which 
still  enshrouds  us,  we  pass  from  land  to  land  as  on  a tour 
of  intellectual  inspection. 


chap,  xi  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  ITALY 


249 


III 

We  start  with  Italy.  There  was  no  break  between  her 
antique  civilization  and  her  mediaeval  development,  but 
only  a period  of  depression  and  decay.  Notwithstanding 
the  change  from  paganism  to  Christianity  and  the  influx 
of  barbarians,  both  a race-continuity  and  a continuity  of 
culture  persisted.  The  Italian  stock  maintained  its  numerical 
preponderance,  as  well  as  the  power  of  transforming  new- 
comers to  the  likeness  of  itself.  The  natural  qualities  of 
the  country,  and  the  existence  of  cities  and  antique  con- 
structions, assisted  in  the  Italianizing  of  Goth,  Lombard, 
German,  Norman.  Latin  civic  reminiscence,  tradition, 
custom,  permeated  society,  and  prevented  the  growth  of 
feudalism.  Italy  remained  urban,  and  continued  to  reflect 
the  ancient  time.  “Consuls”  and  “tribunes”  long  survived 
the  passing  of  their  antique  functions,  and  the  fame  endured 
of  antique  heroes,  mythical  and  historical.  Florence 
honoured  Mars  and  Caesar;  Padua  had  Antenor,  Cremona 
Hercules.  Such  names  remained  veritably  eponymous. 
Other  cities  claimed  the  birthplace  of  Pliny,  of  Ovid,  of 
Virgil.  An  altar  might  no  longer  be  dedicated  to  a pagan 
hero,  yet  the  town  would  preserve  his  name  upon  monu- 
ments, would  adorn  his  fancied  tomb,  stamp  his  efflgy  on 
coins  or  keep  it  in  the  communal  seal.  Of  course  the 
figments  of  the  Trojan  Saga  were  current  through  the  land, 
which,  however  divided,  was  conscious  of  itself  as  Italy.  Te 
Italia  plorabit  writes  an  eleventh-century  Pisan  poet  of  a 
young  Pisan  noble  fallen  in  Africa. 

In  Italy,  as  in  no  other  country,  the  currents  of  antique 
education,  disturbed  yet  unbroken,  carried  clear  across  that 
long  period  of  invasions,  catastrophes,  and  reconstructions, 
which  began  with  the  time  of  Alaric.  Under  the  later 
pagan  emperors,  and  under  Constantine  and  his  successors, 
the  private  schools  of  grammar  and  rhetoric  had  tended  to 
decline.  There  were  fewer  pupils  with  inclination  and 
ability  to  pay.  So  the  emperors  established  municipal 
schools  in  the  towns  of  Italy  and  the  provinces.  The  towns 
tried  to  shirk  the  burden,  and  the  teachers,  whose  pay  came 


250 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


tardily,  had  to  look  to  private  pupils  for  support.  In  Italy 
there  was  always  some  demand  for  instruction  in  grammar 
and  law.  The  supply  rose  and  fell  with  the  happier  or  the 
more  devastated  condition  of  the  land.  Theodoric  the 
Ostrogoth  re-established  municipal  schools  through  his 
dominion.  After  him  further  troubles  came,  for  example 
from  the  Lombards,  until  they  too  became  gentled  by 
Italian  conditions,  and  their  kings  and  nobles  sought  to 
encourage  and  acquire  the  education  and  culture  which 
their  coming  had  disturbed.  In  the  seventh  and  eighth 
centuries  the  grade  of  instruction  was  very  low;  but  there 
is  evidence  of  the  unintermitted  existence  of  lay  schools, 
private  or  municipal,  in  all  the  important  towns,  from  the 
eighth  century  to  the  tenth,  the  eleventh,  and  so  on  and  on. 
These  did  not  give  religious  instruction,  but  taught  grammar 
and  the  classic  literature,  law  and  the  art  of  drawing 
documents  and  writing  letters.  The  former  branches  of 
study  appear  singularly  profane  in  Italy.  The  literature 
exemplifying  the  principles  of  grammar  was  pagan  and 
classical,  and  the  fictitious  themes  on  which  the  pupils 
exercised  their  eloquence  continued  such  as  might  have 
been  orated  on  in  the  time  of  Quintilian.  Intellectually 
the  instruction  was  poverty-stricken,  but  the  point  to  note 
is,  that  in  Italy  there  never  ceased  to  be  schools  conducted 
by  laymen  for  laymen,  where  instruction  in  matters  profane 
and  secular  was  imparted  and  received  for  the  sake  of  its 
profane  and  secular  value,  without  regard  to  its  utility  for 
the  saving  of  souls.  There  was  no  barbaric  contempt  for 
letters,  nor  did  the  laity  fear  them  as  a spiritual  peril. 
Gerbert  before  the  year  1000  had  found  Italy  the  field  for 
the  purchase  of  books ; 1 and  about  1028  Wipo,  a native 
of  Burgundy  and  chaplain  of  the  emperor  Conrad  II., 
contrasts  the  ignorance  of  Germany  with  Italy,  where  “the 
entire  youth  (tota  juventus)  is  sent  to  sweat  in  the  schools” ; 2 
and  about  the  middle  of  the  twelfth  century,  Otto  of  Freising 
suggests  a like  contrast  between  the  Italy  and  Germany  of 
his  time.3 

1 See  post , Chapter  XII.,  i.  The  copying  of  manuscripts  was  a lucrative  pro- 
fession in  Italy. 

2 Tetralogus,  Pertz,  Mon.  Germ,  scriptores,  xi.  251. 

3 The  clerical  schools  were  no  less  important  than  the  lay,  but  less  distinctive 


chap,  xi  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  ITALY 


251 


In  Italy  the  study  of  grammar,  with  all  that  it  included, 
was  established  in  tradition,  and  also  was  regarded  as  a 
necessary  preparation  for  the  study  both  of  law  and  medicine. 
Even  in  the  eleventh  century  these  professions  were  followed 
by  men  who  were  “ grammarians,”  a term  to  be  taken  to 
mean  for  the  early  Middle  Ages  the  profession  of  letters. 
In  the  eleventh  century,  a lawyer  or  notary  in  Italy  (where 
there  were  always  such,  and  some  study  of  law  and  legal 
forms)  needed  education  in  a Latinity  different  from  the 
vulgar  Latin  which  was  turning  into  Italian.  A little  later, 
Irnerius,  the  founder  of  the  Bologna  school,  was  a teacher 
of  “ grammar”  before  he  became  a teacher  of  law.1  As  for 
medicine,  that  appears  always  to  have  been  cultivated  at 
least  in  southern  Italy;  and  a knowledge  of  grammar,  even 
of  logic,  was  required  for  its  study.2 

The  survival  of  medical  knowledge  in  Italy  did  not,  in 
means  and  manner,  differ  from  the  survival  of  the  rest  of 
the  antique  culture.  Some  acquaintance  had  continued 
with  the  works  of  Galen  and  other  ancient  physicians;  but 
more  use  was  made  of  compendia,  the  matter  of  which  may 
have  been  taken  from  Galen,  but  was  larded  with  current 

because  their  fellows  existed  north  of  the  Alps.  Cathedral  schools  may  be 
obscurely  traced  back  to  the  fifth  century;  and  there  were  schools  under  the 
direction  of  the  parish  priests.  In  them  aspirants  for  the  priesthood  were 
educated,  receiving  some  Latin  and  some  doctrinal  instruction.  So  the  cathedral 
and  parochial  schools  helped  to  preserve  the  elements  of  antique  education;  but 
they  present  no  such  open  cultivation  of  letters  for  their  own  profane  sake  as  may 
be  found  in  the  schools  of  lay  grammarians.  The  monastic  schools  are  better 
known.  From  the  ninth  century  they  usually  consisted  of  an  outer  school  ( schola 
exterior)  for  the  laity  and  youths  who  wished  to  become  secular  priests,  and  an 
inner  school  ( interior ) for  those  desiring  to  become  monks.  At  different  times 
the  monastery  schools  of  Bobbio,  Farfa,  and  other  places  rose  to  fame,  but  Monte 
Cassino  outshone  them  all. 

As  to  the  schools  and  culture  of  Italy  during  the  early  Middle  Ages,  see  Ozanam, 
Les  Ecoles  en  Italie  aux  temps  barbares  (in  his  Documents  inedits,  etc.,  and  printed  else- 
where) ; Giesebrecht,  De  literarum  studiis  apud  Halos,  etc.  (translated  into  Italian 
by  C.  Pascal,  Florence,  1895,  under  the  title  V Istruzione  in  Italia  nei  primi  secoli 
del  Medio-Evo) ; G.  Salvioli,  L ' Istruzione  publica  in  Italia  nei  secoli  VIII.,  IX.,  X. 
(Florence,  1898);  Novati,  L’  Influsso  del  pensiero  latino  sopra  la  civilta  italiana  del 
Medio-Evo  (2nd  ed.,  Milan,  1899). 

1 See  post,  Chapter  XXXIV.,  111. 

2 At  Salerno,  according  to  the  Constitution  of  Frederick  II.,  three  years’ 
preliminary  study  of  the  scientia  logicalis  was  demanded,  because  “numquam  sciri 
potest  scientia  medicinae  nisi  de  scientia  logicali  aliquid  praesciatur”  (cited  by 
Novati,  V Influsso  del  pensiero  latino,  etc.,  p.  220).  Just  as  Law  and  Medical 
Schools  in  the  United  States  may  require  a college  diploma  from  applicants  for 
admission. 


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superstitions  regarding  disease.  Such  compendia  began  to 
appear  in  the  fifth  century,  and  through  these  and  other 
channels  a considerable  medical  knowledge  found  its  way 
to  a congenial  home  in  Salerno.  There  are  references  to 
this  town  as  a medical  community  as  early  as  the  ninth 
century.  By  the  eleventh,  it  was  famous  for  its  medicine. 
About  the  year  1060  a certain  Constantine  seems  to  have 
brought  there  novel  and  stimulating  medical  knowledge 
which  he  had  gained  in  Africa  from  Arabian  (ultimately 
Greek)  sources.  Nevertheless,  translations  from  the  Arabic 
seem  scarcely  to  have  exerted  much  influence  upon  medicine 
for  yet  another  hundred  years.1 

Thus  in  Italy  the  antique  education  never  stopped, 
- antique  reminiscence  and  tradition  never  passed  away,  and 
the  literary  matter  of  the  pagan  past  never  faded  from  the 
consciousness  of  the  more  educated  among  the  laity  and 
clergy.  Some  understanding  of  the  classic  literature,  as 
well  as  a daily  absorption  of  the  antique  from  its  survival 
in  habits,  laws,  and  institutions,  made  part  of  the  capaci- 
ties and  temperament  of  Italians.  Grammarians,  lawyers, 
doctors,  monks  even,  might  think  and  produce  under  the 
influence  of  that  which  never  had  quite  fallen  from  the  life 
of  Italy.  And  just  as  the  ancient  ways  of  civic  life  and 
styles  of  building  became  rude  and  impoverished,  and  yet 
passed  on  without  any  abrupt  break  into  the  tenth  and  the 
eleventh  centuries,  so  was  it  with  the  literature  of  Italy,  or 
at  least  with  those  productions  which  were  sheer  literature, 
and  not  deflected  from  traditional  modes  of  expression  by 
any  definite  business  or  by  the  distorting  sentiments  of 
Christian  asceticism.  This  literature  proper  was  likely  to 
take  the  form  of  verse  in  the  eleventh  century.  A practical 
matter  would  be  put  in  prose;  but  the  effervescence  of  the 
soul,  or  the  intended  literary  effort,  would  fall  into  rhyme  or 
resort  to  metre. 

We  have  an  example  of  the  former  in  those  often-cited 
tenth-century  verses  exhorting  the  watchers  on  the  walls  of 
Modena : 

1 On  Constantine  see  Wiistenfeld,  “ Ubersetzungen  arabischer  Werke,”  etc. 
Abhand.  Gottingen  Gesellschaft,  vol.  22  (1877),  pp.  10-20,  and  p.  55  sqq.  Also 
on  the  Salerno  school,  Daremberg,  Hist,  des  sciences  medicates , vol.  i.  p.  254 
sqq. 


chap,  xi  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  ITALY 


253 


“O  tu  qui  servas  armis  ista  moenia, 

Noli  dormire,  moneo,  sed  vigila. 

Dum  Hector  vigil  extitit  in  Troia, 

Non  earn  cepit  fraudulenta  Graecia. 

“Vigili  voce  avis  anser  Candida 
Fugavit  Gallos  ex  arce  Romulea.” 

The  antique  reminiscence  fills  this  jingle,  as  it  does  the 
sensuous 


“O  admirabile  Veneris  ydolum 
Cuius  materiae  nichil  est  frivolum  : 

Archos  te  protegat,  qui  Stellas  et  polum 
Fecit  et  maria  condidit  et  solum.”  1 

And  so  on  from  century  to  century.  At  the  end  of  the 
eleventh,  a Pisan  poet  celebrates  Pisa’s  victory  over  Saracens 
in  Africa : 

“Inclytorum  Pisanorum  scripturus  historiam, 

Antiquorum  Romanorum  renovo  memoriam, 

Nam  ostendit  modo  Pisa  laudem  admirabilem, 

Quam  olim  recepit  Roma  vincendo  Carthaginem.” 

For  an  eleventh-century  example  of  more  literary  verse, 
one  may  turn  to  the  metres  of  Alphanus,  a noble  Salernian, 
lover  of  letters,  pilgrim  traveller,  archbishop  of  his  native 
town,  and  monk  of  Monte  Cassino,  the  parent  Benedictine 
monastery,  which  had  been  the  cultured  retreat  of  Paulus 
Diaconus  in  the  time  of  Charlemagne.  It  was  destroyed 
by  the  Saracens  in  884.  Learning  languished  in  the 
calamitous  decades  which  followed.  But  the  convent  was 
rebuilt,  and  some  care  for  learning  recommences  there  under 
the  abbot  Theobald  (1022-1035).  The  monastery’s  troubles 
were  not  over ; but  it  re-entered  upon  prosperity  under  the 
energetic  rule  of  the  German  Richer  (1038-105 5). 2 Shortly 

1 Traube,  “O  Roma  nobilis,”  Abhand.  philo s.-philol.  Classe  Bayar.  Akad.  Bd. 
19,  p.  301.  This  poem  probably  belongs  to  the  tenth  century.  “Archos”  is  mediaeval 
Greek  for  “The  Lord.” 

2 The  Rationes  dictandi,  a much-used  book  on  the  art  of  composing  letters, 
comes  from  the  hand  of  one  Alberic,  who  was  a monk  at  Monte  Cassino  in  the 
middle  of  the  eleventh  century.  He  died  a cardinal  in  1088.  The  ars  dictaminis 
related  either  to  drawing  legal  documents  or  composing  letters.  See  post,  Chapter 
XXXI.,  11. 


254 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


after  his  death  two  close  friends  were  received  among  its 
monks,  Alphanus  and  Desiderius.  The  latter  was  of  princely 
Lombard  stock,  from  Beneventum.  He  met  Alphanus  at 
Salerno,  and  there  they  became  friends.  Afterwards  both 
saw  something  of  the  world  and  experienced  its  perils. 
Desiderius  was  born  to  be  monk,  abbot,  and  at  last  pope 
(Victor  III.)  against  his  will.  Alphanus,  always  a man  of 
letters,  was  drawn  by  his  friend  to  monastic  life.  Long 
after,  when  Archbishop  of  Salerno,  he  gave  a refuge  and  a 
tomb  to  the  outworn  Hildebrand. 

The  rebuilding  and  adorning  of  Monte  Cassino  by 
Desiderius  with  the  aid  of  Greek  artists  is  a notable  episode 
in  the  history  of  art.1  Under  the  long  rule  of  this  great 
abbot  (1058-1087)  the  monastery  reached  the  summit  of 
its  repute  and  influence.  It  was  the  home  of  theology  and 
ecclesiastical  policy.  There  law  and  medicine  were  studied. 
Likewise  “ grammar”  and  classic  literature,  the  latter  not 
too  broadly,  as  would  appear  from  the  list  of  manuscripts 
copied  under  Desiderius — Virgil,  Ovid,  Terence,  Seneca, 
Cicero’s  De  natura  deorum.  But  then  there  was  the  whole 
host  of  early  Christian  poets,  historians,  and  theologians. 
Naturally,  Christian  studies  were  dominant  within  those 
walls. 

Alphanus  did  not  spend  many  of  his  years  there.  But 
his  loyalty  to  the  great  monastery  never  failed,  nor  his 
intercourse  with  its  abbot  and  monks.  He  has  left  an 
enthusiastic  poem  descriptive  of  the  place  and  the  splendour 
of  its  building.2  A general  and  interesting  feature  of  his 
poetry  is  the  naturalness  of  its  classical  reminiscence  and 
its  feeling  for  the  past,  which  is  even  translated  into  the 
poet’s  sentiments  toward  his  contemporaries  and  toward 
life.  In  his  metrical  verses  ad  Hildebrandum  archidiaconum 
Romanum , his  stirring  praise  of  that  statesman  is  imbued 
with  pagan  sentiment. 

“How  great  the  glory  which  so  often  comes  to  those  defending 
the  republic,  has  not  escaped  thy  knowledge,  Hildebrand.  The 
Via  Sacra  and  the  Via  Latina  recall  the  same,  and  the  lofty  crown 


1 See  E.  Berteaux,  VArt  dans  Vltalie  meridionale,  i.  155  sqq.  (Paris,  1904). 

2 The  poems  of  Alphanus  are  in  Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  147,  col.  1219-1268. 


chap,  xi  ELEVENTH  CENTURY  : ITALY 


255 


of  the  Capitol,  that  mighty  seat  of  empire.  . . . The  hidden  poison 
of  envy  implants  its  infirmity  in  wretched  affairs,  and  brings  over- 
throw only  to  such.  That  thou  shouldst  be  envied,  and  not  envy, 
beseems  thy  skill.  . . . How  great  the  power  of  the  anathema! 
Whatever  Marius  and  Julius  wrought  with  the  slaughter  of 
soldiers,  thou  dost  with  thy  small  voice.  . . . What  more  does 
Rome  owe  to  the  Scipios  and  the  other  Quirites  than  to  thee?” 

Perhaps  the  glyconic  metre  of  this  poem  was  too 
much  for  Alphanus.  His  awkward  constructions,  however, 
constantly  reflect  classic  phrases.  And  how  naturally  his 
mind  reproduced  the  old  pagan — or  fundamental  human — 
views  of  life,  appears  again  in  his  admiring  sapphics  to 
Romuald,  chief  among  Salerno’s  lawyers : 

“Dulcis  orator,  vehemens  gravisque, 

Inter  omnes  causidicos  perennem 
Gloriam  juris  tibi,  Romualde, 

Prestitit  usus.” 

Further  stanzas  follow  on  Romuald’s  wealth,  station, 
and  mundane  felicity.  Then  comes  the  sudden  turn,  and 
Romuald  is  praised  for  having  spurned  them  all : 

“Cumque  sic  felix,  ut  in  orbe  sidus 
Fulseris,  mundum  roseo  jacentem 
Flore  sprevisti.  . . .” 

Apparently  Romuald  had  become  a monk : 

“Rite  fecisti,  potiore  vita 
Perfruiturus.”  1 

This  turn  of  sentiment  curiously  accorded  with  the  poet’s 
own  fortune  and  way  of  life ; for  Alphanus,  with  all  his 
love  of  antique  letters,  was  also  a monk  and  an  ascetic,  of 
whom  a contemporary  chronicler  tells  that  in  Lent  he  ate 
but  twice  a week  and  never  slept  on  a bed.  Yet  monk,  and 
occasional  ascetic,  as  he  was,  the  ordinary  antique-descended 
education  and  inherited  strains  of  antique  feeling  made  the 
substratum  of  his  nature,  and  this  although  he  could  inveigh 
against  the  philosophic  and  grammatical  studies  flourishing 


1 “Ad  Romualdum  causidicum,”  printed  in  Ozanam,  Doc. inedits,  p.  259. 


256 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


book  n 


in  a neighbouring  monastery,  and  advise  one  of  its  studious 
youths  to  turn  from  such : 

“Si,  Transmunde,  mihi  credis,  amice, 

His  uti  studiis  desine  tandem ; 

Fac  cures  monachi  scire  professum, 

Ut  vere  sapiens  esse  puteris.”  1 

Eleventh-century  Italian  “ versificatores  ” were  interested 
in  a variety  of  things.  Some  of  them  gave  the  story  of  a 
saint’s  or  bishop’s  life,  or  were  occupied  with  an  ecclesiastic 
theme.  Others  sang  the  fierce  struggle  between  rival  cities, 
or  some  victory  over  Saracens,  or  made  an  idyl  of  very 
human  love  with  mythological  appurtenances.  The  verse- 
forms  either  followed  the  antique  metres  or  were  accentual 
deflections  from  them  with  the  new  added  element  of  rhyme ; 
the  ways  of  expression  copied  antique  phrase  and  simile, 
except  when  the  matter  and  sentiment  of  the  poem  compelled 
another  choice.  In  that  case  the  Latin  becomes  freer,  more 
mediaeval,  ruder,  if  one  will ; and  still  antique  turns  of 
expression  and  bits  of  sentences  show  how  naturally  it  came 
to  these  men  to  construct  their  verses  out  of  ancient  phrases. 
Yet  borrowed  phrases  and  the  constraint  of  metre  impeded 
spontaneity,  and  these  feeble  versifiers  could  hardly  create 
in  modes  of  the  antique.  A fresher  spirit  breathes  in  certain 
anonymous  poems,  which  have  broken  with  metre,  while  they 
give  voice  to  sentiments  quite  after  the  feeling  of  the  old 
Italian  paganism.  In  one  of  these,  from  Ivrea,  the  poet 
meets  a nymph  by  the  banks  of  the  Po,  and  in  leonine 
elegiacs  bespeaks  her  love,  with  all  the  paraphernalia  of 
antique  reference,  assuring  her  that  his  verse  shall  make  her 
immortal,  a perfectly  pagan  sentiment — or  affectation  : 

“Sum  sum  sum  vates,  musarum  servo  penates, 

Subpeditante  Clio  queque  futura  scio. 

Me  minus  ext  olio,  quamvis  mihi  cedit  Apollo, 

Invidet  et  cedit,  scire  Minerva  dedit. 

Laude  mea  vivit  mihi  se  dare  queque  cupivit, 

Immortalis  erit,  ni  mea  Musa  perit.”  2 

1 Printed  in  Giesebrecht,  De  lit.  stud.,  etc. 

2 Printed  by  Diimmler  in  Anselm  der  Peripatetiker,  pp.  94-102.  See  also  the 
rhyming  colloquy  between  Helen  and  Ganymede,  of  the  twelfth  century,  printed  in 
Ozanam,  Documents  inedits,  etc.,  p.  19. 


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257 


It  is  obvious  that  in  the  tenth  and  eleventh  centuries 
there  were  Italians  whose  sentiments  and  intellectual  interests 
were  profane,  humanistic  in  a word.  These  men  might  even 
be  high  ecclesiastics,  like  Liutprand,  Bishop  of  Cremona 
(d.  97 2). 1 He  was  of  Lombard  stock,  and  yet  a genuine 
Italian,  bred  in  an  atmosphere  of  classical  reminiscence  and 
contemporary  gossip  and  misdeed.  Politically,  at  least,  the 
Italy  of  John  XII.  was  not  so  much  better  than  its  pope; 
and  the  Antapodosis  of  Liutprand  goes  along  in  its  easy, 
and  often  dramatic  way,  telling  of  crime  and  perfidy,  and 
showing  scant  horror.  It  was  a general  history  of  the 
historian’s  times,  written  while  in  exile  in  Germany ; for 
Liutprand  had  been  driven  out  of  Italy  by  King  Berengar, 
whom  he  had  once  served.  He  hated  Berengar  and  his  wife, 
and  although  well  received  at  the  Court  of  the  great  Otto,  he 
did  not  love  his  place  of  exile.2 

In  exile  Liutprand  wrote  his  book  to  requite  Berengar. 
The  work  had  also  a broader  purpose,  yet  one  just  as  con- 
solatory to  the  writer.  It  should  acknowledge  and  show 
the  justice  of  the  divine  judgments  exemplified  in  history. 
Herein  lay  a fuller,  although  less  Italian,  consolation  for  his 
exile  than  in  Berengar’s  requital.  Liutprand  keeps  in  mind 
Boethius  and  his  De  consolatione , and  regards  his  own  work 
as  a Consolation  of  History,  as  that  of  Boethius  was  a Con- 
solation of  Philosophy.  The  paths  of  Liutprand’s  Consola- 
tion are  as  broad  as  the  justice  and  power  of  the  Trinity, 
“which  casts  down  these  for  their  wicked  deeds  and  raises  up 
those  for  their  merits’  sake.”  3 

Quite  explicitly  he  explains  the  title  and  reason  of  his 
work  at  the  opening  of  its  third  book  : 

“Since  it  will  show  the  deeds  of  famous  men,  why  call  it  Anta- 
podosis ? I reply : Its  object  is  to  set  forth  and  cry  aloud  the  acts 

of  this  Berengar  who  at  this  moment  does  not  reign  but  tyrannize 
in  Italy,  and  of  his  wife  Willa,  who  for  the  boundlessness  of  her 
tyranny  should  be  called  a second  Jezebel,  and  Lamia  for  her 
insatiate  rapines.  Me  and  my  house,  my  family  and  kin,  have 

1 On  Liutprand  see  Ebert,  Ges.  der  Lit.  iii.  414-427  ; Molinier,  Sources  de  Vhisloire 
de  France,  i.  274.  His  works  are  in  the  Monumenta  Ger.,  also  in  136  of  Migne.  The 
Antapodosis  and  Embassy  to  Constantinople  are  translated  into  German  in  the  Ge- 
schichlsschreiber  der  deutschm  Vorzeit. 

2 See  Antapod.  vi.  1 (Migne  136,  col.  893). 

3 Antapod.  i.  1 (Migne  136,  col.  791). 

VOL.  I 


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THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


they  harassed  with  so  many  javelins  of  lies,  so  many  spoliations, 
so  many  essays  of  wickedness,  that  neither  tongue  nor  pen  can 
avail  to  set  them  forth.  May  then  these  pages  be  to  them  an 
antapodosis,  that  is  retribution,  to  make  their  wickedness  naked 
before  men  living  and  unborn.  None  the  less  may  it  prove  an 
antapodosis  for  the  benefits  conferred  on  me  by  holy  and  happy 
men.”  1 

Liutprand’s  narrative  is  breezy  and  interspersed  with 
ribald  tales.  The  writer  meant  to  amuse  his  readers  and 
himself.  These  literary  qualities  give  picturesqueness  to  his 
well-known  Embassy  to  Constantinople , where  he  was  sent 
by  Otto  the  Great,  for  purposes  of  peace  and  to  ask  the 
hand  of  the  Byzantine  princess  for  Otto  II.  The  highly 
coloured  ceremonial  life  of  the  Greek  Court,  the  chicane  and 
contemptuous  treatment  met  with,  the  spirited  words  of 
Liutprand,  and  the  rancour  of  this  same  thwarted  envoy,  all 
appear  vividly  in  his  report.2 

There  were  also  many  laymen  occupied  with  Latin 
studies.  Such  a one  was  Gunzo  of  Novara,  a curiously  vain 
grammarian  of  the  second  half  of  the  tenth  century. 
According  to  his  own  story,  the  fame  of  his  learning  incited 
Otto  the  Great  to  implore  his  presence  in  Germany.  So  he 
condescended  to  cross  the  Alps,  with  all  his  books,  perhaps 
in  the  year  965.  On  his  way  he  stopped  with  the  monks  of 
St.  Gall,  themselves  proud  of  their  learning,  and  perhaps 
jealous  of  the  southern  scholar.  As  the  weary  Gunzo  was 
lifted,  half  frozen,  from  his  horse  at  the  convent  door,  and 
the  brethren  stood  about,  a young  monk  caught  at  a slip  in 
grammar,  and  made  a skit  on  him — because,  forsooth,  he  had 
used  an  accusative  when  it  should  have  been  an  ablative. 

Gunzo  neither  forgave  nor  forgot.  Passing  on  to  the 
rival  congregation  of  Reichenau,  he  composed  a long  and 
angry  epistle  of  pedantic  excuse  and  satirical  invective, 
addressed  to  his  former  hosts.3  In  it  he  parades  his  wide 
knowledge  of  classic  authors,  justifies  what  the  monks  of  St. 
Gall  had  presumed  to  mock  as  a ridiculous  barbarism,  and 
closes  with  a prayer  for  them  in  hexameters.  His  letter 
contains  the  interesting  avowal,  that,  although  the  monk  of 

1 Migne  136,  col.  837. 

2 Legatio  Constantino politana  (Migne  136,  col.  909-937). 

3 Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  136,  col.  1283-1302. 


chap,  xi  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  ITALY 


259 


St.  Gall  had  wrongly  deemed  him  ignorant  of  grammar,  his 
Latin  sometimes  was  impeded  by  the  “usu  nostrae  vulgaris 
linguae,  quae  latinitati  vicina  est.”  So  a slip  would  be  due 
not  to  unfamiliarity  with  Latin,  but  to  an  excessive  colloquial 
familiarity  with  the  vulgar  tongue  which  had  scarcely  ceased 
to  be  Latin  — an  excuse  no  German  monk  could  have  given. 
It  is  amusing  to  see  an  Italian  grammarian  of  this  early 
period  enter  the  lists  to  defend  his  reputation  and  assuage 
his  wounded  vanity.  Later,  such  learned  battles  became 
frequent.1 

Gunzo  died  as  the  tenth  century  closed.  Other  Italians 
of  his  time  and  after  him  crossed  the  Alps  to  learn  and 
teach  and  play  the  orator.  From  the  early  eleventh  century 
comes  a satirical  sketch  of  one.  The  subject  was  a certain 
Benedict,  Prior  of  the  Abbey  of  St.  Michael  of  Chiusa,  and 
nephew  of  its  abbot — therefore  doubtless  born  to  wealth  and 
position.  At  all  events  as  a youth  he  had  moved  about  for 
nine  years  “per  multa  loca  in  Longobardia  et  Francia 
propter  grammaticam,”  spending  the  huge  sum  of  two 
thousand  gold  soldi.  His  pride  was  unmeasured.  “I  have 
two  houses  full  of  books ; there  is  no  book  on  the  earth  that 
I do  not  possess.  I study  them  every  day.  I can  discourse 
on  letters.  There  is  no  instruction  to  be  had  in  Aquitaine, 
and  but  little  in  Francia.  Lombardy,  where  I learned  most, 
is  the  cradle  of  knowledge.”  So  the  satire  makes  Benedict 
speak  of  himself.  Then  it  makes  a monk  sketch  Benedict’s 
sojourn  at  a convent  in  Angouleme : “He  knows  more  than 
any  man  I ever  saw.  We  have  heard  his  chatter  the  whole 
day.  0 quam  loquax  est!  He  is  never  tired.  Wherever 
he  may  be,  standing,  sitting,  walking,  lying,  words  pour  from 
his  mouth  like  water  from  the  Tigris.  He  orders  the  whole 
convent  about  as  if  he  were  Abbot.  Monks,  laity,  clergy, 
do  nothing  without  his  nod.  A multitude  of  the  people, 
knights  too,  were  always  hastening  to  hear  him,  as  the  goal 
of  their  desires.  Untired,  hurling  words  the  entire  day,  he 
sends  them  off  worn  out.  And  they  depart,  saying : Never 

have  we  seen  sic  eloquentem  grammaticum.”  2 

1 See  Ebert,  Allgem.  Ges.  iii.  370,  etc.;  Novati,  V Influsso  del  pensiero  latino , 
etc.,  p.  31  sqq. ; and  Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  136. 

2 See  Novati,  L'  Influsso,  etc.,  pp.  188-191.  The  passage  is  from  the  vituperative 
polemic  of  a certain  Ademarus  (Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  141,  col.  107-108). 


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BOOK  II 


Another  of  these  early  wandering  Italian  humanists  won 
kinder  notice,  a certain  Lombard  Guido,  who  died  where 
he  was  teaching  in  Auxerre,  in  1095,  and  was  lamented  in 
leonine  hexameters:  “Alas,  famous  man,  so  abounding,  so 

diligent,  so  praised,  so  venerated  through  many  lands — 

“Filius  Italiae,  sed  alumnus  Philosophiae. 

Let  Gaul  grieve,  and  thou  Philosophy  who  nourished  him : 
Grieve  Grammar,  thou.  With  his  death  the  words  of  Plato 
died,  the  work  of  Cicero  is  blotted  out,  Maro  is  silent  and 
the  muse  of  Naso  stops  her  song.”  1 

A final  instance  to  close  our  examples.  In  the  middle 
of  the  eleventh  century  flourished  Anselm  the  Peripatetic, 
a rhetorician  and  humanist  of  Besate  (near  Milan).  In  his 
Rhetorimachia  he  tells  of  a dream  in  which  he  finds  him- 
self in  Heaven,  surrounded  and  embraced  by  saintly  souls. 
Their  spiritual  kisses  were  still  on  his  lips  when  three 
virgins  of  another  ilk  appear,  to  reproach  him  with  for- 
saking them.  These  are  Dialectic  and  Rhetoric  and  Grammar 
— we  have  met  them  before ! Now  the  embraces  of  the 
saints  seem  cold ! and  to  the  protests  of  the  blessed  throng 
that  Anselm  is  theirs,  the  virgins  make  reply  that  he  is 
altogether  their  own  fosterling.  Anselm  gives  up  the  saints 
and  departs  with  the  three.2  This  was  his  humanistic  choice. 

This  rather  pleasant  dream  discloses  the  conflict  between 
Letters  and  the  call  of  piety,  which  might  harass  the  learned 
and  the  holy  in  Italy.  Distrust  of  the  enticements  of  pagan 
letters  might  transform  itself  to  diabolic  visions.  Such  a 
tale  comes  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Ravenna,  in  the  late 
tenth  century.  It  is  of  one  Vilgard,  a grammarian,  who 
became  infatuated  with  the  great  pagan  poets,  till  their 
figures  waved  through  his  dreams  and  he  heard  their  thanks 
and  assurances  that  he  should  participate  in  their  glory. 
He  foolishly  began  to  teach  matters  contrary  to  the  Faith, 
and  in  the  end  was  condemned  as  a heretic.  Others  were 
infected  with  his  opinions,  and  perished  by  the  sword  and  fire.3 

1 Diimmler,  “Gedichte  aus  Abdinghof,”  in  Neues  Archiv,  v.  i (1876),  p.  181 
(cited  by  Novati,  p.  192). 

2 Diimmler,  Anselm  der  Peripatetiker,  p.  36  sqg. ; cf.  Haureau,  Singularites  his- 
toriques,  p.  179  sqq. 

3 The  account  is  from  Radolphus  Glaber,  Historiarum  libri,  ii.  12. 


chap,  xi  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  ITALY 


261 


Evidently  Vilgard’s  profane  studies  made  him  a heretic. 
But,  ordinarily,  the  Italians  with  their  antique  descended 
temperament  were  not  troubled  in  the  observance  and  the 
expression  of  their  Faith  by  the  paganism  of  their  intellectual 
tastes.  Such  tastes  did  not  produce  open  heretics  in  Italy 
in  the  eleventh  century  any  more  than  in  the  fifteenth.  A 
pagan  disposition  seldom  prevented  an  Italian  from  being  a 
good  Catholic. 

Yet  the  monastic  spirit  in  Italy,  as  elsewhere,  in  the 
eleventh  century  defied  and  condemned  the  pagan  literature, 
and  in  fact  all  Latin  studies  beyond  the  elements  of  grammar. 
The  protest  of  the  monk  or  hermit  might  represent  his 
individual  ignorance  of  classic  literature;  or,  as  in  the  case 
of  Peter  Damiani,  the  ascetic  soul  is  horrified  at  the  seductive 
nature  of  the  pagan  sweets  which  it  knows  too  well.  Peter 
indeed  could  say  in  his  sonorous  Latin : “Olim  mihi  Tullius 

dulcescebat,  blandiebantur  carmina  poetarum,  philosophi 
verbis  aureis  insplendebant,  et  Sirenes  usque  in  exitium 
dulces  meum  incantaverunt  intellectum.”  1 So  a few  decades 
after  Peter’s  death,  Rangerius,  Bishop  of  Lucca,  writes  the 
life  of  an  episcopal  predecessor  in  elegiacs  which  show 
considerable  knowledge  of  grammar  and  prosody;  and  yet 
he  protests  against  liberal  studies— philosophy,  astronomy, 
grammar — with  pithy  commonplace  : 

“Et  nos  ergo  scholas  non  spectamus  inanes 


Scire  Deum  satis  est,  quo  nulla  scientia  maior.”  2 

So  with  the  Italians  the  antique  never  was  an  influence 
brought  from  without,  but  always  an  element  of  their 
temperament  and  faculties.  We  have  not  seen  that  they 
recast  it  into  novel  and  interesting  forms  in  the  eleventh 
century ; yet  they  used  it  familiarly  as  something  of  their 
own,  being  quite  at  home  with  it.  As  one  may  imagine 
some  grand  old  Roman  garden,  planned  and  constructed  by 

1 On  Damiani’s  views  of  classical  studies,  see  Opusc.  xi.,  Liber  qui  dicitur 
Dominus  vobiscum,  cap.  i.  (Migne  145,  col.  232) ; Opusc.  xlv.,  De  sancta  simplicitate 
(ibid.  col.  695);  Opusc.  lviii.,  De  vera  felicitate  et  sapientia  (ibid.  col.  831).  For  the 
life  and  works  of  this  interesting  man  see  post,  p.  262  sqq.,  and  post,  Chapter  XVII. 
Cf.  also  J.  A.  Endres,  Petrus  Damiani  und  die  weltliche  Wissenschaft  (Baeumker’s 
Beitrdge,  1910). 

2 Vita  Anselmi,  1247  (cited  by  Ronca,  p.  227).^ 


262 


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rich  and  talented  ancestors,  and  still  remaining  as  a home 
and  heritage  to  descendants  whose  wealth  and  capacities 
have  shrunken.  The  garden  is  somewhat  ruinous,  and  fallen 
to  decay ; yet  these  sons  are  still  at  home  in  it,  their  daily 
steps  pursue  its  ancient  avenues ; they  still  recline  upon  the 
marble  seats  by  the  fountains  where  perhaps  scant  water 
runs.  Fauns  and  satyrs — ears  gone  and  noses  broken — 
with  even  an  occasional  god,  still  haunt  the  courts  and 
sylvan  paths,  while  everywhere,  above  and  about  these  lazy 
sons,  the  lights  still  chase  the  shadows,  and  anon  the  shadows 
darken  the  green  and  yellow  flashes.  Perhaps  nothing  in 
the  garden  has  become  so  subtly  in  and  of  the  race  as  this 
play  of  light  and  shade.  And  when  the  Italian  genius  shall 
revive  again,  and  children’s  children  find  themselves  with 
power,  still  within  this  ancient  garden  the  great  vernacular 
poems  will  be  composed ; great  paintings  will  be  painted  in 
its  light  and  shade  and  under  the  influence  of  its  formal 
beauties;  and  Italian  buildings  will  never  escape  the  power 
of  the  ruined  structures  found  therein. 

IV 

In  the  tenth  and  eleventh  centuries,  as  remarked  already, 
studiously  inclined  people  made  no  particular  selection  of 
one  study  rather  than  another.  But  men  discriminated 
sharply  between  religious  devotion  and  all  profane  pursuits. 
Energies  which  were  regarded  as  religious  might  have  a 
political-ecclesiastical  character,  and  be  devoted  to  the 
purification  and  upbuilding  of  the  Church;  or  they  might 
be  intellectual  and  aloof ; or  ascetic  and  emotional.  All 
three  modes  might  exist  together  in  religious-minded  men; 
but  usually  one  form  would  dominate,  and  mark  the  man’s 
individuality.  Hildebrand,  for  example,  was  a monk,  fervent 
and  ascetic ; but  his  strength  was  devoted  to  the  discipline  of 
the  clergy  and  the  elevation  of  the  papal  power.  In  the  great 
Hildebrandine  Church  which  was  his  more  than  any  other 
man’s  creation,  the  organizing  and  political  genius  of  Rome 
re-emerges,  and  Rome  becomes  again  the  seat  of  Empire.1 

1 Another  great  politico-ecclesiastical  Italian  was  Lanfranc  (cir.  1005-1089), 
whose  life  was  almost  exactly  contemporaneous  with  that  of  Hildebrand.  He  was 


chap,  xi  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  ITALY 


263 


Eminent  examples  of  Italians  who  illustrate  the  ascetic- 
emotional  and  the  intellectual  mode  of  religious  devotion 
are  the  two  very  different  saints,  Peter  Damiani  and  Anselm. 
The  former,  to  whom  we  shall  again  refer  when  considering 
the  ideals  of  the  hermit  life,  was  born  in  Ravenna  not  long 
after  the  year  1000.  His  parents,  who  were  poor,  seem  to 
have  thought  him  an  unwelcome  addition  to  their  already 
burdensome  family.  His  was  a hard  lot  until  he  reached  the 
age  of  ten,  when  his  elder  brother  Damianus  was  made  an 
archpresbyter  in  Ravenna  and  took  Peter  to  live  with  him, 
to  educate  the  gifted  boy.  From  his  brother’s  house  the 
youth  proceeded  in  search  of  further  instruction,  first  to 
Faenza,  then  to  Parma.  He  became  proficient  in  the 
secular  knowledge  comprised  in  the  Seven  Liberal  Arts,  and 
soon  began  to  teach.  A growing  reputation  brought  many 
pupils,  who  paid  such  fees  that  Peter  had  amassed  consider- 
able property  when  he  decided  upon  a change  of  life.  For 
some  years  he  had  been  fearful  of  the  world,  and  he  now 
turned  from  secular  to  religious  studies.  He  put  on  hair- 
cloth underneath  the  gentler  garb  in  which  he  was  seen  of 
men,  and  became  earnest  in  vigils,  fasts,  and  prayers.  In 
the  night-time  he  quelled  the  lusts  of  the  flesh  by  immersing 
himself  in  flowing  water;  he  overcame  the  temptations  of 
avarice  and  pride  by  lavishly  giving  to  the  poor,  and  tending 
them  at  his  own  table.  Still  he  felt  unsafe,  and  yearned  to 
escape  the  dangers  of  worldly  living.  A number  of  hermits 
dwelt  in  a community  known  as  the  Hermitage  of  the  Holy 
Cross  of  Fonte  Avellana,  near  Faenza;  Peter  became  one 
of  them  shortly  before  his  thirtieth  year.  They  lived 
ascetically,  two  in  a cell  together,  spending  their  time  in 
watching,  fasting,  and  prayer : thus  they  fought  the  Evil 


born  in  high  station  at  Pavia,  and  educated  in  letters  and  the  law.  Seized  with 
the  desire  to  be  a monk,  he  left  his  home  and  passed  through  France,  sojourning 
on  his  way,  until  he  came  to  the  convent  of  Bee  in  Normandy,  in  the  year  1042. 
A man  of  practical  ability  and  a great  teacher,  it  was  he  that  made  the  monas- 
tery great.  Men,  lay  and  clerical,  noble  and  base,  came  thronging  to  hear  him  : 
Anselm  came  and  Ives  of  Chartres,  both  future  saints,  and  one  who  afterwards  as 
Pope  Alexander  II.  rose  before  Lanfranc,  then  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  said : 
“Thus  I honour,  not  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  but  the  master  of  the  school 
of  Bee,  at  whose  feet  I sat  with  other  pupils.”  William  the  Conqueror  made 
Lanfranc  Primate  of  England  and  prince-ruler  of  the  land  in  the  Conqueror’s 
absence. 


264 


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One.  Damiani  was  not  satisfied  merely  with  following  the 
austerities  practised  at  Fonte  Avellana.  Quickly  he  sur- 
passed all  his  fellows,  except  a certain  mail-clad  Dominic, 
whose  scourgings  he  could  not  equal.  His  chief  asceticism 
lay  in  the  temper  of  his  soul. 

From  this  congenial  community  (the  hermits  had  made 
him  their  prior)  Damiani  was  drawn  forth  to  serve  the 
Church  more  actively,  sorely  against  his  will,  and  was  made 
Cardinal-Bishop  of  Ostia  by  Pope  Stephen  IX.  in  1058. 
It  was  indeed  the  hand  of  Hildebrand,  already  directing 
the  papal  policy,  that  had  fastened  on  this  unwilling  yet 
serviceable  tool.  Peter  feared  and  also  looked  askance 
upon  the  relentless  spirit,  whom  he  called  Sanctus  Satanas, 
not  deeming  him  to  be  altogether  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 
He  deprecates  his  censure  upon  one  occasion:  “I  humbly 

beg  that  my  Saint  Satan  may  not  rage  so  cruelly  against 
me,  and  that  his  worshipful  pride  may  not  destroy  me 
with  long  scourgings ; rather  straightway,  may  it,  appeased, 
quiet  to  a calm  around  his  servant.”  In  this  same  letter, 
which  is  addressed  to  the  two  conspiring  souls,  Pope  Alex- 
ander II.  and  Archdeacon  Hildebrand,  he  sarcastically 
likens  them  to  the  Wind  and  the  Sun  of  Aesop’s  fable,  who 
contended  as  to  which  could  the  sooner  strip  the  Traveller 
of  his  cloak.1  Peter’s  tongue  was  sharp  enough,  and  apt 
to  indulge  in  epigram  : 

“Wilt  thou  live  in  Rome,  cry  aloud : 

The  Pope’s  lord  more  than  the  Lord  Pope  I obey.” 

And  another  squib  he  writes  on  Hildebrand : 

“ Papam  rite  colo,  sed  te  prostratus  adoro ; 

Tu  facis  hunc  dominum,  te  facit  iste  deum.”  2 

It  was,  however,  for  his  own  soul  that  Damiani  feared, 
while  in  the  service  of  the  Curia.  To  Desiderius,  Abbot  of 
Monte  Cassino,  he  exclaims:  “He  errs,  Father,  errs  indeed, 

who  imagines  he  can  be  a monk  and  at  the  same  time 
zealously  serve  the  Curia.  Ill  he  bargains,  who  presumes  to 

1 Petri  Damiani  Ep.  i.  xvi.  (Migne  144,  col.  236).  Damiani’s  works  are  con- 
tained in  Migne  144  and  145.  Alexander  II.  was  pope  from  1061  to  1073,  when  he 
was  succeeded  by  Hildebrand. 

2 Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  145,  col.  961,  967. 


chap,  xi  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  ITALY  265 

desert  the  cloister,  that  he  may  take  up  the  warfare  of  the 
world.”  1 

Albeit  against  his  will,  Damiani  became  a soldier  of 
the  Church  in  the  fields  of  her  secular  militancy  against  the 
world.  He  was  sent  on  more  than  one  important  mission — 
to  Milan,  to  crush  the  married  priests  and  establish  the 
Pope’s  authority,  or  to  Mainz,  there  to  quell  a rebellious 
archbishop  and  a youthful  German  king.  Such  missions 
and  others  he  might  accomplish  with  holy  strenuousness ; 
his  more  spontaneous  zeal,  however,  was  set  upon  the  task 
of  cleansing  the  immoralities  of  monks  and  clergy.  In  spite 
of  his  enforced  relations  with  the  powers  of  the  world,  he 
was  a fiery  reforming  ascetic,  a scourge  of  his  time’s  wicked- 
ness, rather  than  a statesman  of  the  Church.  His  writings 
were  a vent  for  the  outcries  of  his  horror-stricken  soul. 
The  corruption  of  the  clergy  filled  his  nostrils : they  were 
rotten,  like  the  loin-cloth  of  Jeremiah,  hidden  by  the 
Euphrates ; their  bellies  were  full  of  drunkenness  and  lust.2 
As  for  the  apostolic  see : 

“Heu!  sedes  apostolica, 

Orbis  olim  gloria, 

Nunc,  proh  dolor  ! efficeris 
Officina  Simonis.”  3 

These,  with  other  verses  written  in  tears,  relate  to  schisms 
of  pope  and  antipope  which  so  often  rent  the  papacy  in 
Peter’s  lifetime.4  He  never  ceased  to  cry  out  against  monks 

1 Opusculum,  xxxvi.  (Migne  145,  col.  595).  It  is  also  bad  to  be  an  abbot,  as 
Damiani  shows  in  plaintive  and  almost  humorous  verses : 

“Nullus  pene  abbas  modo 
Valet  esse  monachus, 

Dum  diversum  et  nocivum 
Sustinet  negotium : 

Et,  quod  velit  sustinere, 

Velut  iniquus  patitur 

“ Spiritaliter  abbatem 
Volunt  fratres  vivere, 

Et  per  causas  saeculares 
Cogunt  ilium  pergere ; 

Per  tarn  itaque  diversa 
Quis  valet  incedere?” 

De  abbatum  miseria  rhythmus 
(Migne,  Pal.  Lat.  145,  col.  972). 

2 Lib.  v.  Ep.  iv. ; cf.  Jer.  xiii. 

3Ep.  iv.  11  (Migne,  Pal.  Lat.  144,  col.  313). 

4 He  died  in  1072,  a year  before  Hildebrand  was  made  pope. 


266 


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and  clergy,  denouncing  their  simony  and  avarice,  their 
luxury,  intemperance  and  vile  unchastity,  their  viciousness 
of  every  kind.  Such  denunciations  fill  his  letters,  while 
many  of  his  other  writings  chiefly  consist  of  them.1  They 
culminate  in  his  horrible  Liber  Gomorrhianus , which  was 
issued  with  the  approval  of  one  pope,  to  be  suppressed  by 
another  as  too  unspeakable. 

Naturally  over  so  foul  a world,  flame  and  lower  the 
terrors  of  the  Day  of  Judgment.  For  Damiani  it  was  near 
at  hand.  He  writes  to  a certain  judge  : 

“Therefore,  lord  and  father,  now  while  the  world  smiles  for 
thee,  while  thy  body  glows  in  health,  while  the  prosperity  of  earth 
allures,  think  upon  those  things  which  are  to  come.  Deem 
whatever  is  transitory  to  be  but  as  the  illusion  of  a dream.  And 
that  terrible  day  of  the  last  Judgment  keep  ever  present  to  thy 
sight,  and  brood  with  quaking  bowels  over  the  sudden  coming  of 
such  majesty — nor  think  it  to  be  far  off !”  2 

Beware  of  penitence  postponed ! 

“O  how  full  of  grief  and  dole  is  that  late  unfruitful  repentance, 
when  the  sinful  soul,  beginning  to  be  loosed  from  its  dungeon  of 
flesh,  looks  behind  it,  and  then  directs  its  gaze  into  the  future. 
It  sees  behind  it  that  little  stadium  of  mortal  life,  already  tra- 
versed ; it  sees  before  it  the  range  of  endless  aeons.  That  flown 
moment  which  it  has  lived  it  perceives  to  be  an  instant;  it  con- 
templates the  infinite  length  of  time  to  come.”  3 

From  Damiani’s  stricken  thoughts  upon  the  wickedness 
of  the  age,  we  may  turn  to  the  more  personal  disclosures  of 
one  who  wrote  himself  Petrus  peccator  monachus.  There 
is  one  tell-tale  letter  of  confession  to  his  brother  Damianus, 
whom  he  loved  and  revered  : 

“To  my  lord  Damianus,  my  best  loved  brother, — Peter,  sinner 
and  monk,  his  servant  and  son. 

“I  would  not  have  it  hid  from  thee,  my  sweetest  father  in 
Christ,  that  my  mind  is  cast  down  with  sadness  while  it  con- 
templates its  own  exit  which  is  so  near.  For  I count  my  length 
of  years,  I note  that  my  head  is  streaked  with  grey,  and  observe 
that  in  whatever  assemblage  I find  myself  nearly  all  are  younger 

1 Opusc.  xvii.,  De  coelibatu;  Opusc.  xviii.,  Contra  intern per  antes  clericos ; Opusc. 
xxii.,  Contra  clericos  aulicos,  etc. 

2 Lib.  iv.  Ep.  5 (Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  144,  col.  300). 

3 Lib.  v.  Ep.  3 (Migne  144,  col.  343). 


chap,  xi  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  ITALY 


267 


than  myself.  When  I consider  this,  I ponder  upon  death  alone, 
I meditate  upon  my  tomb ; I do  not  withdraw  the  eyes  of  my 
mind  from  my  tomb.  Nor  is  my  unhappy  mind  content  to  limit 
its  fear  and  its  consideration  to  the  death  of  the  body;  for  it 
is  at  once  haled  to  judgment,  and  meditates  with  terror  upon 
what  it  may  be  reproached  with  and  what  may  be  its  defence. 
Wretched  me  ! with  what  fountains  of  tears  must  I lament ! I who 
have  done  every  evil,  and  through  my  long  life  have  fulfilled 
scarce  one  commandment  of  the  divine  law.  For  what  evil  have 
not  I,  miserable  man,  committed?  Where  are  the  vices,  where 
are  the  crimes  in  which  I am  not  implicated;  I confess  my  life 
has  fallen  in  a lake  of  misery;  my  soul  is  taken  in  its  iniquities. 
Pride,  lust,  anger,  impatience,  malice,  envy,  gluttony,  drunken- 
ness, concupiscence,  robbery,  lying,  perjury,  idle  talking,  scurrility, 
ignorance,  negligence,  and  other  pests  have  overthrown  me,  and 
all  the  vices  like  ravening  beasts  have  devoured  my  soul.  My 
heart  and  my  lips  are  defiled.  I am  contaminate  in  sight,  hearing, 
taste,  smell,  and  touch.  And  in  every  way,  in  cogitation,  in 
speech  or  action,  I am  lost.  All  these  evils  have  I done ; and 
alas  ! alas  ! I have  brought  forth  no  fruit  meet  for  repentance. 

“One  pernicious  fault,  among  others,  I bewail:  scurrility 
has  been  my  besetting  sin;  it  has  never  really  left  me.  For 
howsoever  I have  fought  against  this  monster,  and  broken  the 
wicked  teeth  of  this  beast  with  the  hammer  of  austerity,  and  at 
times  repelled  it,  I have  never  won  the  full  victory.  When,  in  the 
ways  of  spiritual  gladness,  I wish  to  show  myself  cheerful  to  the 
brethren,  I drop  into  words  of  vanity;  and  when  as  it  were  dis- 
creetly for  the  sake  of  brotherly  love,  I think  to  throw  off  my 
severity,  then  indiscreetly  my  tongue  unbridled  utters  foolishness. 
If  the  Lord  said : ‘ Blessed  are  they  that  mourn,  for  they  shall 
be  comforted,’  what  judgment  hangs  over  those  who  not  only 
are  slack  at  weeping,  but  act  like  buffoons  with  laughter  and  vain 
giggling.  Consolation  is  due  to  those  who  weep,  not  to  those  who 
rejoice;  what  consolation  may  be  expected  from  that  future 
Judge  by  those  who  now  give  way  to  foolish  mirth  and  vain 
jocularity?  If  the  Truth  says:  ‘Woe  unto  ye  who  laugh  now, 

for  ye  shall  mourn  and  weep,’  what  shall  they  say  upon  that 
awful  day  of  judgment  who  not  only  laugh  themselves,  but  with 
scurrilities  drag  laughter  from  their  listeners?” 

The  penitent  saint  then  shows  from  Scripture  how  that 
our  hearts  ought  to  be  vessels  of  tears,  and  concludes  with 
casting  himself  at  the  feet  of  his  beloved  “ father”  in  entreaty 
that  he  would  interpose  the  shield  of  his  holy  prayers  between 


268 


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BOOK  II 


his  petitioner  and  that  monster,  and  exorcise  its  serpentine 
poison,  and  also  that  he  would  ever  pour  forth  prayers 
to  God,  and  beseech  the  divine  mercy  in  behalf  of  all  the 
other  vices  confessed  in  this  letter.1 

A strange  confession  this — or,  indeed,  is  it  strange? 
This  cowled  Peter  Damiani  who  passes  from  community  to 
community,  seeing  more  keenly  than  others  may,  denounc- 
ing, execrating  every  vice  existent  or  imagined,  who  wears 
haircloth,  goes  barefoot,  lives  on  bread  and  water,  scourges 
himself  with  daily  flagellations,  urging  others  to  do  likewise, 
— this  Peter  Damiani  is  yet  unable  quite  to  scourge  out  the 
human  nature  from  him,  and  evidently  cannot  always  re- 
frain from  that  jocularity  and  inepta  laetitia  for  which  the 
Abbess  Hildegard  also  saw  sundry  souls  in  hell.2  Perhaps, 
with  Peter,  revulsions  from  the  strain  of  austerity  took  the 
form  of  sudden  laughter.  His  imagination  was  fine,  his  wit 
too  quick  for  his  soul’s  safety.  His  confession  was  no  matter 
of  mock  humility,  nor  did  he  deem  laughter  vulgar  or  in 
bad  taste.  He  feared  to  imperil  his  soul  through  it.  Of 
course,  in  accusing  himself  of  other,  and  as  we  should  think 
more  serious  crimes — drunkenness,  robbery,  perjury — Peter 
was  merely  carrying  to  an  extreme  the  monkish  conventions 
of  self -vilification. 

If  it  appears  from  this  letter  that  Damiani  had  been 
unable  quite  to  scourge  his  wit  out  of  him,  another  letter, 
to  a young  countess,  will  show  more  touchingly  that  he  had 
been  unable  quite  to  fast  out  of  him  his  human  heart. 

“To  Guilla,  most  illustrious  countess,  Peter,  monk  and  sinner, 
[sends]  the  instancy  of  prayer. 

“Since  of  a thing  out  of  which  issues  conflict  it  is  better  to 
have  ignorance  without  cost,  than  with  dear-bought  forgetting 
wage  hard  war,  we  prudently  accord  to  young  women,  whose 
aspect  we  fear,  audience  by  letter.  Certainly  I,  who  now  am  an 
old  man,  may  safely  look  upon  the  seared  and  wrinkled  visage  of 
a blear-eyed  crone.  Yet  from  sight  of  the  more  comely  and 
adorned  I guard  my  eyes  like  boys  from  fire.  Alas  my  wretched 
heart  which  cannot  hold  Scriptural  mysteries  read  through  a 
hundred  times,  and  will  not  lose  the  memory  of  a form  seen  but 

1 Lib.  v.  Ep.  2 (Migne  144,  col.  340).  Damiani’s  Rhythmus  poenitentis  monachi 
(Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  145,  col.  971)  expresses  the  passionate  remorse  of  a sinful  monk. 

2 Post,  Chapter  XX. 


chap,  xi  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  ITALY 


269 


once ! There  where  the  divine  law  has  not  remained,  no  oblivion 
blurs  vanity’s  image.  But  of  this  another  time.  Here  I have 
not  to  write  of  what  is  hurtful  to  me  but  of  what  may  be  salutary 
for  thee.” 

Peter  then  continues  with  excellent  advice  for  the  young 
noblewoman,  exhorting  her  to  deeds  of  mercy  and  kindness, 
and  warning  her  against  the  enjoyment  of  revenues  wrung 
from  the  poor.1  Indeed  Damiani’s  writings  contain  much 
that  still  is  wise.  His  advice  to  the  great  and  noble  of  the 
world  was  admirable,2  and  though  couched  in  austere  phrase, 
it  demanded  what  many  men  feel  bound  to  fulfil  in  the 
twentieth  century.  His  little  work  on  Almsgiving 3 contains 
sentences  which  might  be  spoken  to-day.  He  has  been 
pointing  out  that  no  one  can  be  exercising  the  ascetic  virtues 
all  the  time : no  one  can  be  always  praying  and  fasting, 

washing  feet  and  subjecting  the  body  to  pain.  Some 
people,  moreover,  shun  such  self-castigation.  But  one  can 
always  be  benevolent;  and,  though  fearing  to  afflict  the 
body,  can  stretch  forth  his  hand  in  charity:  “ Those  then 

who  are  rich  are  bidden  to  be  dispensers  rather  than 
possessors.  They  ought  not  to  regard  what  they  have  as 
their  own : for  they  did  not  receive  this  transitory  wealth  in 
order  to  revel  in  luxury,  or  turn  it  to  their  private  uses,  but 
that  they  should  administer  it  so  long  as  they  continue  in 
their  stewardship.  Whoever  gives  to  the  poor  does  not 
distribute  his  own  but  restores  another’s.”  4 

This  sounds  modern — it  also  sounds  like  Seneca.5  Yet 
Damiani  was  no  modern  man,  nor  was  he  antique,  but  very 

1 Lib.  vii.  Ep.  18  (Migne  144,  col.  458). 

2 Much  is  contained  in  the  eighth  book  of  his  letters.  The  third  letter  of  this 

book  is  addressed  to  a nobleman  who  did  not  treat  his  mother  as  Peter  would  have 
had  him.  The  whole  family  situation  is  given  in  two  sentences:  “But  you  may 

say : ‘ My  mother  exasperates  me  often,  and  with  her  rasping  words  worries  me  and 

my  wife.  We  cannot  endure  such  reproaches,  nor  tolerate  the  burden  of  her  severity 
and  interference.’  But  for  this,  your  reward  will  be  the  richer,  if  you  return  gentle- 
ness for  contumely,  and  mollify  her  with  humility  when  you  are  sprinkled  with  the 
salt  of  her  abuse”  (Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  144,  col.  467).  Some  sentences  from  this  letter 
are  given  post,  Chapter  XXXII.,  as  examples  of  Latin  style. 

The  next  letter  is  addressed  to  the  same  nobleman  and  his  wife  on  the  death 
of  their  son.  It  gently  points  out  to  them  that  his  migration  to  the  coelestia  regna, 
where  among  the  angels  he  has  put  on  the  garment  of  immortality,  is  cause  for  joy. 

3Opusc.  ix.,  De  eleemosyna  (Migne  145,  col.  207  sqq.). 

4 Opusc.  ix.,  De  eleemosyna,  cap.  i. 

5 Seneca,  De  vita  beala,  20. 


270 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


fearful  of  the  classics.  Having  been  a rhetorician  and 
grammarian,  when  he  became  a hermit-monk  he  made 
Christ  his  grammar  (mea  grammatica  Christus  est ).1  Horror- 
stricken  at  the  world,  and  writing  under  his  own  contamina- 
tion, he  cast  body  and  soul  into  the  ascetic  life.  That  was 
the  harbour  of  escape  from  the  carnal  temptations  which 
threatened  the  soul’s  hope  of  pardon  from  the  Judge  at  the 
Last  Day.  Therefore  Peter  is  fierce  in  execration  of  all 
lapses  from  the  hermit-life,  so  rapturously  praised  with  its 
contrition,  its  penitence,  and  tears.  His  ascetic  rhap- 
sodies, with  which,  as  a poet  might,  he  delighted  or  re- 
lieved his  soul,  are  eloquent  illustrations  of  the  monastic 
ideal.2 

Other  men  in  Italy  less  intelligent  than  Damiani,  but 
equally  picturesque,  were  held  by  like  ascetic  and  emotional 
obsession.  Intellectual  interest,  however,  in  theology  was 
less  prominent,  because  the  Italian  concern  with  religion  was 
either  emotional  or  ecclesiastical,  which  is  to  say,  political. 
The  philosophic  or  dialectical  treatment  of  the  Faith  was  to 
run  its  course  north  of  the  Alps ; and  those  men  of  Italian 
birth — Anselm,  Peter  Lombard,  Bonaventura,  and  Aquinas 
— who  contributed  to  Christian  thought,  early  left  their 
native  land,  and  accomplished  their  careers  under  intellectual 
conditions  which  did  not  obtain  in  Italy.  Nevertheless, 
Anselm  and  Bonaventura  at  least  did  not  lose  their  Italian 
qualities ; and  it  is  as  representative  of  what  might  come 
out  of  Italy  in  the  eleventh  century  that  the  former  may 
detain  us  here. 

The  story  of  Anselm  is  told  well  and  lovingly  by  his 
companion  Eadmer.3  His  life,  although  it  was  drawn  within 
the  currents  of  affairs,  remained  intellectual  and  aloof,  a 
meditation  upon  God.  It  opens  with  a dream  of  climbing 
the  mountain  to  God’s  palace-seat.  For  Anselm’s  boyhood 
was  passed  at  Aosta,  within  the  shadows  of  the  Graian 
Alps.4  Surely  the  heaven  rested  upon  them.  Might  he 

1 Lib.  viii.  Ep.  8 (Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  144,  col.  476).  Cf.  ante,  p.  261. 

2 Extracts  will  be  given  post,  Chapter  XVII.,  together  with  Damiani’s  remark- 
able Life  of  Romuald. 

3 Migne  158,  col.  50  sqq. 

4 Anselm  was  born  in  1033  and  died  in  1109.  His  works  are  in  Migne  158,  159. 
See  also  Domet  de  Vorges,  S.  Anselme  (Les  grands  Philosophes,  1901). 


chap,  xi  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  ITALY 


271 


not  then  go  up  to  the  hall  where  God,  above  in  the  heaven, 
as  the  boy’s  mother  taught,  ruled  and  held  all  ? 

“So  one  night  it  seemed  he  must  ascend  to  the  summit  of  the 
mountains,  and  go  to  the  hall  of  the  great  King.  In  the  plain  at 
the  first  slopes,  he  saw  women,  the  servants  of  the  King,  reaping 
grain  carelessly  and  idly.  He  would  accuse  them  to  their  Lord. 
He  went  up  across  the  summit  and  came  to  the  King’s  hall.  He 
found  Him  there  alone  with  His  seneschal,  for  it  was  autumn  and 
He  had  sent  His  servants  to  gather  the  harvest.  The  Lord  called 
the  boy  as  he  entered ; and  he  went  and  sat  at  His  feet.  The  Lord 
asked  kindly  (jucunda  affabilitate)  whence  he  came  and  what  he 
wished.  He  replied  just  as  he  knew  the  thing  to  be  (juxta  quod 
rent  esse  sciebat).  Then,  at  the  Lord’s  command,  the  Seneschal 
brought  him  bread  of  the  whitest,  and  he  was  there  refreshed  in 
His  presence.  In  the  morning  he  verily  believed  that  he  had  been 
in  Heaven  and  had  been  refreshed  with  the  bread  of  the  Lord.” 

A pious  mother  had  been  the  boy’s  first  teacher. 
Others  taught  him  Letters,  till  he  became  proficient,  and 
beloved  by  those  who  knew  him.  He  wished  to  be  made  a 
monk,  but  a neighbouring  abbot  refused  his  request,  fearing 
the  displeasure  of  Anselm’s  father,  of  whom  the  biographer 
has  nothing  good  to  say.  The  youth  fell  sick,  but  with 
returning  health  the  joy  of  living  drew  his  mind  from  study 
and  his  pious  purpose.  Love  for  his  mother  held  him  from 
over-indulgence  in  pastimes.  She  died,  and  with  this  sheet- 
anchor  lost,  Anselm’s  ship  was  near  to  drifting  out  on  the 
world’s  slippery  flood.  Here  the  impossible  temper  of  the 
father  wrought  as  God’s  providence,  and  Anselm,  unable 
to  stay  with  him,  left  his  home,  and  set  out  across  Mount 
Senis  attended  by  one  clericus.  For  three  years  he  moved 
through  Burgundy  and  Francia,  till  Lanfranc’s  repute  drew 
him  to  Bee.  Day  and  night  he  studied  beneath  that  master, 
and  also  taught.  The  desire  to  be  a monk  returned ; and 
he  began  to  direct  his  purpose  toward  pleasing  God  and 
spurning  the  world. 

But  where?  At  either  Cluny  or  Bee  he  feared  to  lose 
the  fruit  of  his  studies ; for  at  Cluny  there  was  the  strictness 
of  the  rule,1  and  at  Bee  Lanfranc’s  eminent  learning  would 

1 “Districtio  ordinis,”  Vita,  i.  6.  This  indicates  that  liberal  studies  were  not 
favoured  in  Cluny  at  this  time,  cir.  1060. 


272  THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND  book  ii 

“make  mine  of  little  value. ” Anselm  says  that  he  was  not 
yet  subdued,  nor  had  the  contempt  of  the  world  become 
strong  in  him.  Then  the  thought  came:  “Is  this  to  be  a 

monk  to  wish  to  be  set  before  others  and  magnified  above 
them  ? Nay, — become  a monk  where,  for  the  sake  of  God, 
you  will  be  put  after  all  and  be  held  viler  than  all.  And 
where  can  this  be?  Surely  at  Bee.  I shall  be  of  no  weight 
while  he  is  here,  whose  wisdom  and  repute  are  enough  for  all. 
Here  then  is  my  rest,  here  God  alone  will  be  my  purpose, 
here  the  single  love  of  Him  will  be  my  thought,  and 
here  the  constant  remembrance  of  Him  will  be  a happy 
consolation.” 

Scripture  bade  him  : Do  all  things  with  counsel.  Whom 

but  Lanfranc  should  he  consult?  So  he  laid  three  plans 
before  him — to  become  a monk,  a hermit,  or  (his  father 
being  dead)  for  the  sake  of  God  administer  his  patrimony 
for  the  poor.  Lanfranc  persuaded  Anselm  to  refer  the 
decision  to  the  venerable  Archbishop  of  Rouen.  Together 
they  went  to  him,  and  such,  says  the  biographer,  was 
Anselm’s  reverence  for  Lanfranc,  that  on  the  way,  passing 
through  the  wood  near  Bee,  had  Lanfranc  bade  him  stay  in 
that  wood,  he  would  not  have  left  it  all  his  days. 

The  archbishop  decided  for  the  monastic  life.  So 
Anselm  took  the  vows  of  a monk  at  Bee,  being  twenty- 
seven  years  of  age.  Lanfranc  was  then  Prior,  but  soon  left 
to  become  Abbot  of  St.  Stephen’s  at  Caen.1  Made  Prior  in 
his  place,  Anselm  devoted  himself  in  gentleness  and  wisdom 
to  the  care  of  the  monks  and  to  meditation  upon  God  and 
the  divine  truths.  He  was  especially  considerate  of  the 
younger  monks,  whose  waywardness  he  guided  and  whose 
love  he  won.  The  envy  of  cavillers  was  stilled.  Yet  the 
business  of  office  harassed  one  whose  thoughts  dwelled  more 
gladly  in  the  blue  heaven  with  God.  Again  he  sought  the 
counsel  of  the  archbishop ; for  Herluin,  the  first  Abbot  and 
founder  of  Bee,  still  lived  on,  old  and  unlettered,  and 
apparently  no  great  fount  of  wisdom.  The  archbishop 
commanded  him  per  sanctam  obedientiam  not  to  renounce  his 
office,  nor  refuse  if  called  to  a higher  one.  So,  sad  but 


1 In  a convent  where  there  is  an  abbot,  the  prior  is  the  officer  directly  under 


chap,  xi  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  ITALY  273 

resolute,  he  returned  to  the  convent,  and  resumed  his 
burdens  in  such  wise  as  to  be  held  by  all  as  a loved  father. 
It  was  at  this  period  that  he  wrote  several  treatises  upon  the 
high  doctrinal  themes  which  filled  his  thoughts.  Gradually 
his  mind  settled  to  the  search  after  some  single  proof  of  that 
which  is  believed  concerning  God — that  He  exists,  and  is 
eternal,  unchanging,  omnipotent,  just,  and  pitying,  and  is 
truth  and  goodness.  This  thing  caused  him  great  difficulty. 
Not  only  it  kept  him  from  food  and  drink  and  sleep,  but 
what  weighed  upon  him  more,  it  interfered  with  his  devotion 
to  God’s  service.  Reflecting  thus,  and  unable  to  reach  a 
valid  conclusion,  he  decided  that  such  speculation  was  a 
temptation  of  the  devil,  and  tried  to  drive  it  from  his 
thoughts.  But  the  more  he  struggled,  the  more  it  beset 
him.  And  one  night,  at  the  time  of  the  nocturnal  vigils,  the 
grace  of  God  shed  light  in  his  heart,  and  the  argument  was 
clear  to  his  mind,  and  filled  his  inmost  being  with  an 
immense  jubilation.  All  the  more  now  was  he  confirmed 
in  the  love  of  God  and  the  contempt  of  the  world,  of  which 
one  night  he  had  a vision  as  of  a torrent  filled  with  obscene 
filth,  and  carrying  in  its  flood  the  countless  host  of  people 
of  the  world,  while  apart  and  aloof  from  its  slime  rose  the 
sweet  cloister,  with  its  walls  of  silver,  surrounded  by  silvery 
herbage,  all  delectable  beyond  conception. 

In  the  year  1078  old  Herluin  died.  Anselm  long  had 
guided  the  convent,  and  with  one  voice  the  brethren  chose 
him  Abbot.  He  reasoned  and  argued,  but  could  not  dis- 
suade them,  and  in  his  anxiety  he  knew  not  what  to  do. 
Some  days  passed.  He  had  recourse  to  entreaties ; with 
tears  he  flung  himself  prostrate  before  them  all,  praying  and 
protesting  in  the  name  of  God,  and  beseeching  them,  if  they 
had  any  bowels  of  compassion,  to  permit  him  to  remain  free 
from  this  great  burden.  But  they  only  cast  themselves 
upon  the  earth,  and  prayed  that  he  would  rather  com- 
miserate them,  and  not  disregard  the  convent’s  good.  At 
length  he  yielded,  for  the  command  of  the  archbishop  came 
to  his  mind.  Such  a scene  occurs  often  in  monastic  history. 
None  the  less  is  it  moving  when  the  participants  are  in 
earnest,  as  Anselm  was,  and  his  monks. 

So  Anselm’s  life  opened ; so  it  sought  counsel,  gathered 
VOL.  I T 


274 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


strength,  and  centred  to  its  purpose,  pursuing  as  its  goal  the 
thought  of  God.  Anselm  had  love  and  gentleness  for  his 
fellows;  he  drew  their  love  and  reverence.  Yet,  aloof,  he 
lived  within  his  spirit.  Did  he  open  its  hidden  places  even 
to  Lanfranc?  Although  one  who  in  his  humility  always 
desired  counsel,  perhaps  neither  Lanfranc  nor  Eadmer,  the 
friend  whom  the  Pope  gave  him  for  an  adviser,  knew  the 
meditations  of  his  heart.  We  at  all  events  should  discern 
little  of  them  by  following  the  outer  story  of  his  life.  It 
might  even  be  fruitless  to  sail  with  him  across  the  Channel 
to  visit  Lanfranc,  now  Primate  of  England.  The  biographer 
has  little  that  is  important  to  tell  of  the  converse  between 
the  two,  although  quite  rightly  impressed  at  the  meeting 
between  him  who  was  pre-eminent  in  auctoritas  and  scientia 
and  him  who  excelled  in  sanctitas  and  sapientia  Dei.1  Nor 
would  it  enlighten  us  to  follow  Anselm’s  archiepiscopal 
career,  save  so  far  as  to  realize  that  he  who  lives  in  the 
thought  of  God  will  fear  no  brutal  earthly  majesty,  such  as 
that  of  William  Rufus,  to  admonish  whom  Anselm  once  more 
crossed  the  Channel  after  Lanfranc’s  death.  Whatever  this 
despoiler  of  bishoprics  then  thought,  he  fell  sick  afterwards, 
and,  being  terrified,  named  Anselm  archbishop,  this  being  in 
the  year  1093.  One  may  imagine  the  unison  between  them  1 
and  how  little  the  Red  King’s  ways  would  turn  the  enskied 
steadfastness  of  Anselm’s  soul.  But  the  king  had  the  power, 
and  could  keep  the  archbishop  in  trouble  and  in  peril. 
Anselm  asked  and  asked  again  for  leave  to  go  to  Rome,  and 
the  king  refused.  After  more  than  one  stormy  scene — the 
storm  being  always  on  the  Red  King’s  part — Anselm  made 
it  plain  that  he  would  obey  God  rather  than  man  in  the 
matter.  At  the  very  last  he  went  in  to  the  king  and  his 
Court,  and  seating  himself  quietly  at  the  king’s  right  he 
said:  “I,  my  lord,  shall  go,  as  I have  determined.  But 

first,  if  you  do  not  decline  it,  I will  give  you  my  blessing.” 
So  the  king  acquiesced. 

The  archbishop  went  first  to  Canterbury,  to  comfort 
and  strengthen  his  monks,  and  spoke  to  them  assembled 
together : 

1 In  the  Vita,  i.  30,  Anselm  and  Lanfranc  discuss  the  title  of  a certain  beatified 
Aelfegus  to  veneration  as  a saint. 


chap,  xi  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  ITALY 


275 


“Dearly  beloved  brothers  and  sons,  I am,  as  you  know,  about 
to  leave  this  kingdom.  The  contention  with  our  lord  the  king 
as  to  Christian  discipline,  has  reached  this  pass  that  I must  either 
do  what  is  contrary  to  God  and  my  own  honour,  or  leave  the  realm. 
Gladly  I go,  hoping  through  the  mercy  of  God  that  my  journey 
may  advance  the  Church’s  liberty  hereafter.  I am  moved  to 
pity  you,  upon  whom  greater  tribulations  will  come  in  my  absence. 
Even  with  me  here,  you  have  not  been  unoppressed,  yet  I think 
I have  given  you  more  peace  than  you  have  had  since  the  death 
of  our  Father  Lanfranc.  I think  those  who  molest  you  will  rage 
the  more  with  me  away.  You,  however,  are  not  undisciplined 
in  the  school  of  the  Lord.  Nevertheless  I will  say  something, 
because,  since  you  have  come  together  within  the  close  of  this 
monastery  to  fight  for  God,  you  should  always  have  before  your 
eyes  how  you  should  fight. 

“All  retainers  do  not  fight  in  the  same  way  either  for  an  earthly 
prince,  or  for  God  whose  are  all  things  that  are.  The  angels 
established  in  eternal  beatitude  wait  upon  Him.  He  has  also 
men  who  serve  Him  for  earthly  benefits,  like  hired  knights.  He 
has  also  some  who,  cleaving  to  His  will,  contend  to  reach  the 
kingdom  of  heaven,  which  they  have  forfeited  through  Adam’s 
fault.  Observe  the  knights  who  are  in  God’s  pay.  Many  you 
see  leading  a secular  life  and  cleaving  to  the  household  of  God 
for  the  good  things  which  they  gain  in  His  service.  But  when, 
by  God’s  judgment,  trial  comes  to  them,  and  disaster,  they  fly 
from  His  love  and  accuse  Him  of  injustice.  We  monks — would 
that  we  were  such  as  not  to  be  like  them ! For  those  who  cannot 
stand  to  their  professed  purpose  unless  they  have  all  things  com- 
fortable, and  do  not  wish  to  suffer  destitution  for  God,  how  shall 
they  not  be  held  like  to  these?  And  shall  such  be  heirs  of  the 
kingdom  of  heaven?  Faithfully  I say,  No,  never,  unless  they 
repent. 

“He  who  truly  contends  toward  recovering  the  kingdom  of 
life,  strives  to  cleave  to  God  through  all ; no  adversity  draws  him 
from  God’s  service,  no  pleasure  lures  him  from  the  love  of  Him. 
Per  dura  et  aspera  he  treads  the  way  of  His  commands,  and  from 
hope  of  the  reward  to  come,  his  heart  is  aflame  with  the  ardour 
of  love,  and  sings  with  the  Psalmist,  Great  is  the  glory  of  the  Lord. 
Which  glory  he  tastes  in  this  pilgrimage,  and  tasting,  he  desires, 
and  desiring,  salutes  as  from  afar.  Supported  by  the  hope  of 
attaining,  he  is  consoled  amid  the  perils  of  the  world  and  gladly 
sings,  Great  is  the  glory  of  the  Lord.  Know  that  this  one  will 
in  no  way  be  defrauded  of  that  glory  of  the  Lord,  since  all  that 


276 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


is  in  him  serves  the  Lord,  and  is  directed  to  winning  this  reward. 
But  I see  that  there  is  no  need  to  say  to  you  another  word.  My 
brothers,  since  we  are  separated  now  in  grief,  I beseech  you  so 
to  strive  that  hereafter  we  may  be  united  joyfully  before  God. 
Be  ye  those  who  truly  wish  to  be  made  heirs  of  God.” 

The  clarity  and  gentle  love  of  this  high  argument  is 
Anselm.  Now  the  story  follows  of  Anselm  and  Eadmer  and 
another  monk  travelling  on,  sometimes  unknown,  sometimes 
acclaimed,  through  France  to  Italy  and  Rome.  Anselm’s 
face  inspired  reverence  in  those  who  did  not  know  him,  and 
the  peace  of  his  countenance  attracted  even  Saracens.  Had 
he  been  born  and  bred  in  England,  he  might  have  managed 
better  with  the  Red  King.  He  never  got  an  English  point 
of  view,  but  remained  a Churchman  with  Italian-Hilde- 
brandine  convictions.  Of  course,  two  policies  were  clashing 
then  in  England,  where  it  happened  that  there  was  on  one  side 
an  able  and  rapacious  tyrant,  while  the  other  was  represented 
by  a man  with  the  countenance  and  temperament  of  an 
angel.  But  we  may  leave  Anselm  now  in  Italy,  where 
he  is  beyond  the  Red  King’s  molestation,  and  turn  to  his 
writings. 

Their  choice  and  treatment  of  subject  was  partly  guided 
by  the  needs  of  his  pupils  and  friends  at  Bee  and  elsewhere 
in  Normandy  or  Francia  or  England.  For  he  wrote  much 
at  their  solicitation ; and  the  theological  problems  of  which 
solutions  were  requested,  suggest  the  intellectual  temper  of 
those  regions,  rather  than  of  Italy.  In  a way  Anselm’s 
works,  treating  of  separate  and  selected  Christian  questions, 
are  a proper  continuation  of  those  composed  by  northern 
theologians  in  the  ninth  century  on  Predestination  and  the 
Eucharist.1  Only  Anselm’s  were  not  evoked  by  the  exigency 
of  actual  controversy  as  much  as  by  the  insistency  of  the 
eleventh-century  mind,  and  the  need  it  felt  of  some  ad- 
justment regarding  certain  problems.  Anselm’s  theological 
and  philosophic  consciousness  is  clear  and  confident.  His 
faculties  are  formative  and  creative,  quite  different  from  the 
compiling  instincts  of  Alcuin  or  Rabanus.  The  matter  of 
his  argument  has  become  his  own ; it  has  been  remade  in 
his  thinking,  and  is  presented  as  from  himself — and  God. 

1 Ante,  Chapter  X. 


chap,  xi  ELEVENTH  CENTURY  : ITALY 


277 


He  no  longer  conceives  himself  as  one  searching  through  the 
‘‘pantries”  of  the  Fathers  or  culling  the  choice  flowers  of 
their  “meadows.”  He  will  set  forth  the  matter  as  God  has 
designed  to  disclose  it  to  him.  In  the  Cur  Deus  homo  he 
begins  by  saying  that  he  had  been  urged  by  many,  verbally 
and  by  letter,  to  consider  the  reasons  why  God  became 
man  and  suffered,  and  then,  assenting,  says:  “Although, 

from  the  holy  Fathers  on  what  should  suffice  has  been 
said,  yet  concerning  this  question  I will  endeavour  to  set  forth 
for  my  inquirers  what  God  shall  deign  to  disclose  to  me.”  1 
Certain  works  of  Anselm,  the  Monologion , for  instance  (as 
demanded  by  its  topic),  present  the  dry  and  the  formal 
method  of  reasoning  which  was  to  make  its  chief  home  in 
France;  others,  like  the  Proslogion , seem  to  be  Italian  in  a 
certain  beautiful  emotionalism.  The  feeling  is  very  lofty, 
even  lifted  out  of  the  human,  very  skyey,  even.  The  Pros- 
logion, the  Meditationes , do  not  throb  with  the  red  blood  of 
Augustine’s  Confessions , the  writing  which  influenced  them 
most.  The  quality  of  their  feeling  suggests  rather  Dante’s 
Paradiso;  and  sometimes  with  Anselm  a sense  of  formal 
beauty  and  perfection  seems  to  disclose  the  mind  of  Italy. 
Moreover,  Anselm’s  Latin  style  appears  Italian.  It  is 
elastic,  even  apparently  idiomatic,  and  varies  with  the 
temper  and  character  of  his  different  works.  Throughout,  it 
shows  in  Latin  the  fluency  and  simple  word-order  natural  to 
an  author  whose  vulgaris  eloquentia  was  even  closer  to  Latin 
in  the  time  of  Anselm  than  when  Dante  wrote. 

So  Anselm’s  writings  were  intimately  part  of  their 
author,  and  very  part  of  his  life-long  meditation  upon  God. 
Led  by  the  solicitations  of  others,  as  well  as  impelled  by 
the  needs  of  his  own  faculties  and  nature,  he  takes  up  one 
Christian  problem  after  another,  and  sets  forth  his  under- 
standing of  it  with  his  conclusion.  He  is  devout,  an 
absolute  believer ; and  he  is  wonderfully  metaphysical.  He 
is  a beautiful,  a sublimated,  and  idealizing  reasoner,  con- 
vinced that  a divine  reality  must  exist  in  correspondence 
with  his  thought,  which  projects  itself  aloft  to  evoke  from  the 
blue  an  answering  reality.  The  inspiration,  the  radiating 
point  of  Anselm’s  intellectual  interest,  is  clearly  given — to 

1 Cur  Deus  homo,  i.  i (Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  158,  col.  361). 


278 


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BOOK  II 


understand  that  which  he  first  believes.  It  is  a spontaneous 
intellectual  interest,  not  altogether  springing  from  a desire 
to  know  how  to  be  saved.  It  does  not  seek  to  understand 
in  order  to  believe;  but  seeks  the  happiness  of  knowing 
and  understanding  that  which  it  believes  and  loves.  Listen 
to  some  sentences  from  the  opening  of  the  Proslogion : 

“Come  now,  mannikin,  flee  thy  occupations  for  a little,  and 
hide  from  the  confusion  of  thy  cares.  Be  vacant  a little  while 
for  God,  and  for  a little  rest  in  Him.  . . . Now,  O Lord  my  God, 
teach  my  heart  where  and  how  to  seek  thee,  where  and  how  to 
find  thee.  Lord,  Lord,  illuminate  us ; show  us  thyself.  Pity 
us  labouring  toward  thee,  impotent  without  thee.  . . . Teach 
me  to  seek  thee,  and  show  thyself  to  my  search;  for  I cannot 
seek  thee  unless  thou  dost  teach,  nor  find  thee  unless  thou  dost 
show  thyself.  ...  I make  no  attempt,  Lord,  to  penetrate  thy 
depths,  for  my  intellect  has  no  such  reach ; but  I desire  to  under- 
stand some  measure  of  thy  truth,  which  my  heart  believes  and 
loves.  I do  not  seek  to  know  in  order  that  I may  believe;  but 
I believe,  that  I may  know.  For  I believe  this  also,  that  unless 
I shall  have  believed,  I shall  not  understand.”  1 

So  Anselm  is  first  a believer,  then  a theologian ; and 
his  reason  devotes  itself  to  the  elucidation  of  his  faith. 
Faith  prescribes  his  intellectual  interests,  and  sets  their 
bounds.  His  thought  does  not  occupy  itself  with  matters 
beyond.  But  takes  a pure  intellectual  delight  in  reasoning 
upon  the  God  which  his  faith  presents  and  his  heart  cleaves 
to.  The  motive  is  the  intellectual  and  loving  delight 
which  his  mind  takes  in  this  pursuit.  His  faith  was 
sure  and  undisturbed,  and  ample  for  his  salvation.  His 
intellect,  affected  by  no  motive  beyond  its  own  strength 
and  joy,  delights  in  reasoning  upon  the  matter  of  his  faith.2 

1 In  the  Car  Deus  homo , i.  2,  Anselm  has  his  approved  disciple  state  the  same 

point  of  view:  “As  the  right  order  prescribes  that  we  should  believe  the  pro- 

fundities of  the  Christian  Faith,  before  presuming  to  discuss  them  rationally,  so 
it  seems  to  me  neglect  if  after  we  are  confirmed  in  faith  we  do  not  study  to  under- 
stand what  we  believe.  Wherefore,  since  by  the  prevenient  grace  of  God,  I deem 
myself  to  hold  the  faith  of  our  redemption,  so  that  even  if  I could  by  no  reason 
comprehend  what  I believe,  there  is  nothing  that  could  pluck  me  from  it,  I ask 
from  thee,  as  many  ask,  that  thou  wouldst  set  forth  to  me,  as  thou  knowest  it, 
by  what  necessity  and  reason,  God,  being  omnipotent,  should  have  assumed  the 
humility  and  weakness  of  human  nature  for  its  restoration.” 

2 There  is  indeed  an  early  treatise,  De  grammatico  (Migne  158,  col.  561-581),  in 
which  Anselm  seems  to  abandon  himself  to  dialectic  concerned  with  an  academic 


chap,  xi  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  ITALY 


279 


We  may  still  linger  for  a moment  to  observe  how  closely 
part  of  Anselm’s  nature  was  his  proof  of  the  existence  of 
God.1  It  sprang  directly  from  his  saintly  soul  and  the 
compelling  idealism  of  his  reason.  In  the  Monologion 
Anselm  ranged  his  many  arguments  concerning  the  nature 
and  attributes  of  the  summum  bonum  which  is  God.  Its 
chain  of  inductions  failed  to  satisfy  him  and  his  pupils.  So 
he  set  his  mind  to  seek  a sole  and  unconditioned  proof 
(as  Eadmer  states  in  the  Vita)  of  God’s  existence  and  the 
attributes  which  faith  ascribes  to  Him.  Anselm  says  the 
same  in  the  Preface  to  the  Proslogion : 

“ Considering  that  the  prior  work  was  woven  out  of  a con- 
catenation of  many  arguments,  I set  to  seek  within  myself  ( mecum ) 
whether  I might  not  discover  one  argument  which  needed  nothing 
else  than  itself  alone  for  its  proof ; and  which  by  itself  might 
suffice  to  show  that  God  truly  exists,  and  that  He  is  the  summum 
bonum  needing  nothing  else,  but  needed  by  all  things  in  order 
that  they  may  exist  and  have  well-being  (ut  sint  et  bene  sint ) ; 
and  whatever  we  believe  concerning  the  divine  substance.” 

The  famous  proof  which  at  length  flashed  upon  him  is 
substantially  this : By  very  definition  the  word  God  means 

the  greatest  conceivable  being.  This  conception  exists  even 
in  the  atheist’s  mind,  for  he  knows  what  is  meant  by  the 
words,  the  absolutely  greatest.  But  the  greatest  cannot  be 
in  the  intellect  alone,  for  then  conceivably  there  would  be 
a greater  which  would  exist  in  reality  as  well.  And  since, 
by  definition,  God  is  the  absolutely  greatest,  He  must  exist 
in  reality  as  well  as  in  the  mind.2  Carrying  out  the  scholia 
to  this  argument,  Anselm  then  proves  that  God  possesses 
the  various  attributes  ascribed  to  Him  by  the  Christian  Faith. 

That  from  a definition  one  may  not  infer  the  existence 
of  the  thing  defined,  was  pointed  out  by  a certain  monk 
Gaunilo  almost  as  soon  as  the  Proslogion  appeared.  Anselm 

topic.  The  question  is  whether  grammalicus,  a grammarian,  is  to  be  subsumed 
under  the  category  of  substance  or  quality;  dialectically  is  a grammarian  a 
man  or  an  incident? 

1 Cf.  Kaulich,  Ges.  der  scholastischen  Philosophic,  i.  293-332 ; Haureau,  Histoire 
de  la  philosophic  scholastique,  i.  242-288;  Stockl,  Philosophic  des  Mittelalters,  i. 
151-208;  De  Wulf,  History  of  Medieval  Philosophy,  3rd  ed.  (Longmans,  1909),  p.  162 
sqq.,  and  authorities. 

2 The  locus  classicus  is  Proslogion,  cap.  2. 


28o 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


book  n 


answered  him  that  the  argument  applied  only  to  the  greatest 
conceivable  being.  Since  that  time  Anselm’s  proof  has 
been  upheld  and  disproved  many  times.  It  was  at  all 
events  a great  dialectic  leap ; but  likely  one  may  not  with 
such  a bound  cross  the  chasm  from  definition  to  existence — 
at  least  one  will  be  less  bold  to  try  when  he  realizes  that 
this  chasm  is  there.  Temperamentally,  at  least,  this  proof 
was  the  summit  of  Anselm’s  idealism : he  could  not  but 

conceive  things  to  exist  in  correspondence  to  the  demands 
of  his  conceptions.  He  never  made  another  so  palpable 
leap  from  conception  to  conviction  as  in  this  proof  of  God’s 
existence ; yet  his  theology  proceeded  through  like  processes 
of  thought.  For  example,  he  is  sure  of  God’s  omnipotence, 
and  also  sure  that  God  can  do  nothing  which  would  detract 
from  the  perfection  of  His  nature  : God  cannot  lie  : “For  it 

does  not  follow,  if  God  wills  to  lie  that  it  is  just  to  lie ; but 
rather  that  He  is  not  God.  For  only  that  will  can  will  to 
lie  in  which  truth  is  corrupted,  or  rather  which  is  corrupted 
by  forsaking  truth.  Therefore  when  one  says  ‘if  God  wills 
to  lie,’  he  says  in  substance,  ‘ if  God  is  of  such  a nature  as 
to  will  to  lie.  ’ ” 1 

Anselm’s  other  famous  work  was  the  Cur  Deus  homo , 
upon  the  problem  why  God  became  man  to  redeem  mankind. 
It  was  connected  with  his  view  of  sin,  and  the  fall  of  the 
angels,  as  set  forth  chiefly  in  his  dialogue  De  casu  Diaboli. 
One  may  note  certain  cardinal  points  in  his  exposition : 
Man  could  be  redeemed  only  by  God ; for  he  would  have 
been  the  bond-servant  of  whoever  redeemed  him,  and  to 
have  been  the  servant  of  any  one  except  God  would  not  have 
restored  him  to  the  dignity  which  would  have  been  his  had 
he  not  sinned.2  Or  again : The  devil  had  no  rights  over 

man,  which  he  lost  by  unjustly  slaying  God.  For  man  was 
not  the  devil’s,  nor  does  the  devil  belong  to  himself  but  to 
God.3  Evidently  Anselm  frees  himself  from  the  conception 
of  any  ransom  paid  to  the  devil,  or  any  trickery  put  on 
him — thoughts  which  had  lowered  current  views  of  the 
Atonement.  Anselm’s  arguments  (which  are  too  large,  and 
too  interwoven  with  his  views  upon  connected  subjects,  to 
be  done  justice  to  by  any  casual  statement)  are  free  from 

1 Cur  Deus  homo,  i.  12.  2 Ibid.  i.  5.  3 Ibid.  i.  7. 


chap,  xi  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  ITALY 


281 


degrading  foolishness.  His  reasonings  were  deeply  felt,  as 
one  may  see  in  his  Meditationes,  where  thought  and  feeling 
mutually  support  and  enhance  each  other.  So  he  recalls 
Augustine,  the  great  model  and  predecessor  whom  he 
followed  and  revered.  And  still  the  feeling  in  Anselm’s 
Meditationes , as  in  the  Proslogion , is  somewhat  sublimated 
and  lifted  above  human  heart-throbs.  Perhaps  it  may  seem 
rhetorical,  and  intentionally  stimulated  in  order  to  edify. 
Even  in  the  Meditationes  upon  the  humanity  and  passion  of 
Jesus,  Anselm  is  not  very  close  to  the  quivering  tenderness 
of  St.  Bernard,  and  very  far  from  the  impulsive  and 
passionate  love  of  Francis  of  Assisi.  One  thinks  that  his 
feelings  rarely  distorted  his  countenance  or  wet  it  with  tears.1 

1 Examples  of  Anselm’s  prose  are  given  post,  Chapter  XXXII.  On  Anselm’s 
position  in  scholasticism  and  his  scholastic  method,  see  Grabmann,  Ges.  der  scholastischen 
Methode,  Bd.  I.  p.  265  sqq.  (1909-  ). 


CHAPTER  XII 


MENTAL  ASPECTS  OE  THE  ELEVENTH  CENTURY  : FRANCE 

I.  Gerbert. 

II.  Odilo  of  Cluny. 

III.  Fulbert  and  the  School  of  Chartres;  Trivium 

AND  QUADRIVIUM. 

IV.  Berengar  of  Tours,  Roscellin,  and  the  Coming  Time. 

I 

It  appeared  in  the  last  chapter  that  Anselm’s  choice  of 
topic  was  not  uninfluenced  by  his  northern  domicile  at  Bee 
in  Normandy,  from  which,  one  may  add,  it  was  no  far  cry 
to  the  monastery  (Marmoutier)  of  Anselm’s  sharp  critic 
Gaunilo.  These  places  lay  within  the  confines  of  central 
and  northern  France,  the  home  of  the  most  originative 
mediaeval  development.  For  this  region,  the  renewed  studies 
of  the  Carolingian  period  were  the  proper  antecedents  of 
0 the  efforts  of  the  eleventh  century.  The  topics  of  study 
still  remained  substantially  the  same ; yet  the  later  time 
represents  a further  stage  in  the  appropriation  of  the  antique 
and  patristic  material,  and  its  productions  show  the  genius 
of  the  authors  more  clearly  than  Carolingian  writings, 
which  were  taken  piecemeal  from  patristic  sources  or  made 
of  borrowed  antique  phrase. 

The  difference  is  seen  in  the  personality  and  writings  of 
Gerbert  of  Aurillac,1  the  man  who  with  such  intellectual 
catholicity  opens  the  story  of  this  period.  One  will  be 
struck  with  the  apparently  arid  crudity  of  his  intellectual 
processes.  Crude  they  were,  and  of  necessity;  arid  they 

1 On  Gerbert  see  Lettres  de  Gerbert  publiees  avec  une  introduction,  etc.,  par  Julien 
Havet  (Paris;  Picard,  1889;  I have  cited  them  according  to  this  edition);  (Euvres 
de  Gerbert,  ed.  by  Olleris  (Clermont  and  Paris,  1867);  also  in  Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  139; 
Richerus,  Historiarum  libri  IV.  (especially  lib.  iii.  cap.  55  sqq.) ; Mon.  Germ,  script. 
iii.  561  sqq.;  Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  138,  col.  17  sqq.  Also  Picavet,  Gerbert,  un  pape  philosophe 
(Paris:  Leroux,  1897);  Cantor,  Ges.  der  Mathematik,  i.  728-751  (Leipzig,  1880); 

Prantl,  Ges.  der  Logik,  ii.  53-57  (Leipzig,  1861). 

282 


chap,  xii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  FRANCE  283 

were  not,  being  an  unavoidable  stage  in  the  progress  of 
mediaeval  thinking.  Yet  it  is  a touch  of  fate’s  irony  that 
such  an  interesting  personality  should  have  been  afflicted 
with  them.  For  Gerbert  was  the  redeeming  intellect  of  the 
last  part  of  the  tenth  century.  The  cravings  of  his  mind 
compassed  the  intellectual  predilections  of  his  contem- 
poraries. Secular  and  by  no  means  priestly  they  appear 
in  him ; and  it  is  clear  that  religious  motives  did  not 
dominate  this  extraordinary  individual  who  was  reared 
among  monks,  became  Abbot  of  Bobbio,  Archbishop  of 
Rheims,  Archbishop  of  Ravenna,  and  pope  at  last. 

He  appears  to  have  been  born  shortly  before  the  year 
950.  From  the  ignorance  in  which  we  are  left  as  to  his 
parents  and  the  exact  place  of  his  birth  in  Aquitaine,  it  may 
be  inferred  that  his  origin  was  humble.  While  still  a boy 
he  was  received  into  the  Benedictine  monastery  of  St. 
Geraldus  at  Aurillac  in  Auvergne.  There  he  studied 
grammar  (in  the  extended  mediaeval  sense),  under  a monk 
named  Raymund,  and  grew  to  love  the  classics.  A loyal 
affectionateness  was  a life-long  trait  of  Gerbert,  and  more 
than  one  letter  in  after  life  bears  witness  to  the  love  which 
he  never  ceased  to  feel  for  the  monks  of  Aurillac  among 
whom  his  youthful  years  were  passed,  and  especially  for 
this  brother  Raymund  from  whom  he  received  his  first 
instruction. 

Raymund  afterwards  became  abbot  of  the  convent. 
But  it  was  his  predecessor,  Gerald,  who  had  received  the 
boy  Gerbert,  and  was  still  to  do  something  of  moment  in 
directing  his  career.  A certain  duke  of  the  Spanish 
March  came  on  a pilgrimage  to  Aurillac ; and  Gerald 
besought  him  to  take  Gerbert  back  with  him  to  Spain  for 
such  further  instruction  as  the  convent  did  not  afford.  The 
duke  departed,  taking  Gerbert,  and  placed  him  under  the 
tuition  of  the  Bishop  of  Vich,  a town  near  Barcelona.  Here 
he  studied  mathematics.  The  tradition  that  he  travelled 
through  Spain  and  learned  from  the  Arabs  lacks  prob- 
ability. But  in  the  course  of  time  the  duke  and  bishop  set 
forth  to  pray  for  sundry  material  objects  at  the  fountain-head 
of  Catholicism,  and  took  their  protege  with  them  to  Rome. 

In  Rome,  Gerbert’s  destiny  advanced  apace.  His 


284 


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BOOK  II 


patrons,  doubtless  proud  of  their  young  scholar,  introduced 
him  to  the  Pope,  John  XIII.,  who  also  was  impressed  by 
Gerbert’s  personality  and  learning.  John  told  his  own 
protector,  the  great  Otto,  and  informed  him  of  Gerbert’s 
ability  to  teach  mathematics;  and  the  two  kept  Gerbert  in 
Rome,  when  the  Spanish  duke  and  bishop  returned  to  their 
country.  Gerbert  began  to  teach,  and  either  at  this  time  or 
later  had  among  his  pupils  the  young  Augustus,  Otto  II. 
But  he  was  more  anxious  to  study  logic  than  to  teach 
mathematics,  even  under  imperial  favour.  He  persuaded 
the  old  emperor  to  let  him  go  to  Rheims  with  a certain 
archdeacon  from  that  place,  who  was  skilled  in  the  science 
which  he  lacked.  The  emperor  dismissed  him,  with  a 
liberal  hand.  In  his  new  home  Gerbert  rapidly  mastered 
logic,  and  impressed  all  with  his  genius.  He  won  the  love 
of  the  archbishop,  Adalberon,  who  soon  set  the  now  triply 
accomplished  scholar  at  the  head  of  the  episcopal  school. 
Gerbert’s  education  was  complete,  in  letters,  in  mathematics 
including  music,  and  in  logic.  Thenceforth  for  ten  years 
(972-982),  the  happiest  of  his  life,  he  studied  and  also 
taught  the  whole  range  of  academic  knowledge. 

Fortune,  not  altogether  kind,  bestowed  on  Gerbert  the 
favour  of  three  emperors.  The  graciousness  of  the  first 
Otto  had  enabled  him  to  proceed  to  Rheims.  The  second 
Otto  listened  to  his  teaching,  admired  the  teacher,  and  early 
in  the  year  983  made  him  Abbot  and  Count  of  Bobbio. 
Long  afterwards  the  third  Otto  made  him  Archbishop  of 
Ravenna,  and  then  pope. 

Bobbio,  the  chief  foundation  of  Columbanus,  situated  not 
far  from  Genoa,  was  powerful  and  rich ; but  its  vast 
possessions,  scattered  throughout  Italy,  had  been  squandered 
by  worthless  abbots  or  seized  by  lawless  nobles.  The  new 
count-abbot,  eager  to  fulfil  the  ecclesiastical  and  feudal 
functions  of  his  position,  strove  to  reclaim  the  monastery’s 
property  and  bring  back  its  monks  to  decency  and  learning. 
In  vain.  Now,  as  more  than  once  in  Gerbert’s  later  life, 
brute  circumstances  proved  too  strong.  Otto  died.  Gerbert 
was  unsupported.  He  struggled  and  wrote  many  letters 
which  serve  to  set  forth  the  situation  for  us,  though  they 
did  not  win  the  battle  for  their  writer : 


chap,  xii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  FRANCE 


285 


“According  to  the  largeness  of  my  mind,  my  lord  (Otto  II.) 
has  enriched  me  with  most  ample  honours.  For  what  part  of 
Italy  does  not  hold  the  possessions  of  the  blessed  Columbanus? 
So  should  this  be,  from  the  generosity  and  benevolence  of  our 
Caesar.  Fortune,  indeed,  ordains  it  otherwise.  Forsooth  ac- 
cording to  the  largeness  of  my  mind  she  has  loaded  me  with  most 
ample  store  of  enemies.  For  what  part  of  Italy  has  not  my 
enemies?  My  strength  is  unequal  to  the  strength  of  Italy! 
There  is  peace  on  this  condition : if  I,  despoiled,  submit,  they 
cease  to  strike;  intractable  in  my  vested  rights,  they  attack 
with  the  sword.  When  they  do  not  strike  with  the  sword,  they 
thrust  with  javelins  of  words.”  1 

Within  a year  Gerbert  gave  up  the  struggle  at  Bobbio, 
and  returned  to  Rheims  to  resume  his  duties  as  head  of 
the  school,  and  secretary  and  intimate  adviser  of  Adal- 
beron.  Politically  the  time  was  one  of  uncertainty  and 
turmoil.  The  Carolingian  house  was  crumbling,  and  the 
house  of  Capet  was  scheming  and  struggling  on  to  a royalty 
scarcely  more  considerable.  In  Germany  intrigue  and  revolt 
threatened  the  rights  of  the  child  Otto  III.  Archbishop 
Adalberon,  guided  by  Gerbert,  was  a powerful  factor  in 
the  dynastic  change  in  France;  and  the  two  were  zealous 
for  Otto.  Throughout  these  troubles  Gerbert  constantly 
appears,  directing  projected  measures  and  divining  courses 
of  events,  yet  somehow,  in  spite  of  his  unmatched  intelli- 
gence, failing  to  control  them. 

Time  passed,  and  Adalberon  died  at  the  beginning  of 
the  year  989.  His  successor,  Arnulf,  a scion  of  the  falling 
Carolingian  house,  was  subsequently  unseated  for  treason  to 
the  new-sprung  house  of  Capet.  In  991  Gerbert  himself 
was  made  archbishop.  But  although  seeming  to  reach  his 
longed-for  goal,  troubles  redoubled  on  his  head.  There  was 
rage  at  the  choice  of  one  so  lowly  born  for  the  princely 
dignity.  The  storm  gathered  around  the  new  archbishop, 
and  the  See  of  Rome  was  moved  to  interfere,  which  it  did 
gladly,  since  at  Rome  Gerbert  was  hated  for  the  reproaches 
cast  upon  its  ignorance  and  corruption  by  bishops  at  the 
council  which  elected  him  and  deposed  his  predecessor.  In 
that  deposition  and  election  Rome  had  not  acquiesced ; and 
we  read  the  words  of  the  papal  legate : 

1 Ep.  12. 


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book  n 


“The  acts  of  your  synod  against  Arnulf,  or  rather  against  the 
Roman  Church,  astound  me  with  their  insults  and  blasphemies. 
Truly  is  the  word  of  the  Gospel  fulfilled  in  you,  ‘There  shall  be 
many  anti-Christs.’  . . . Your  anti-Christs  say  that  Rome  is  as  a 
temple  of  idols,  an  image  of  stone.  Because  the  vicars  of  Peter 
and  their  disciples  will  not  have  as  master  Plato,  Virgil,  Terence  or 
the  rest  of  the  herd  of  Philosophers,  ye  say  they  are  not  worthy  to 
be  door-keepers — because  they  have  no  part  in  such  song.”  1 

The  battle  went  against  Gerbert.  Interdicted  from 
his  archiepiscopal  functions,  he  left  France  for  the  Court 
of  Otto  III.,  where  his  intellect  at  once  dominated  the 
aspirations  of  the  young  monarch.  Otto  and  Gerbert  went 
together  to  Italy,  and  the  emperor  made  his  friend 
Archbishop  of  Ravenna.  The  next  year,  999,  Gregory  V. 
died,  and  the  archbishop  became  Pope  Sylvester  II.  For 
three  short  years  the  glorious  young  imperial  dreamer  and 
his  peerless  counsellor  planned  and  wrought  for  a great 
united  Empire  and  Papacy  on  earth.  Then  death  took  first 
the  emperor  and  soon  afterwards  the  pope-philosopher. 

Gerbert  was  the  first  mind  of  his  time,  its  greatest 
teacher,  its  most  eager  learner,  and  most  universal  scholar. 
His  pregnant  letters  reflect  a finished  man  who  has  mastered 
his  acquired  knowledge  and  transformed  it  into  power. 
They  also  evince  the  authorship  of  one  who  had  uniquely 
profited  from  the  power  and  spirit  of  the  great  minds  of  the 
pagan  past,  had  imbibed  their  sense  of  form  and  pertinency, 
and  with  them  had  become  self-contained  and  self-controlled, 
master  of  himself  and  of  all  that  had  entered  in  and  made 
him  what  he  was.  Notice  how  the  personality  of  the  writer, 
with  his  capacities,  tastes,  and  temperament,  is  unfolded 
before  us  in  a letter  to  a close  friend,  abbot  of  a monastery 
at  Tours : 

“Since  you  hold  my  memory  in  honour,  and  in  virtue  of 
relationship  declare  great  friendship,  I deem  that  I shall  be  happy 
for  your  opinion,  if  only  I am  one  who  in  the  judgment  of  so  great 
a man  is  found  worthy  to  be  loved.  But  since  I am  not  one  who, 
with  Panetius,  would  sometimes  separate  the  good  from  the  useful, 
but  rather  with  Tully  would  mingle  it  with  everything  useful,  I 
wish  these  best  and  holiest  friendships  never  to  be  void  of  re- 


Mon.  Germ,  scriptores.  iii.  686. 


chap,  xii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  FRANCE 


287 


ciprocal  utility.  And  as  morality  and  the  art  of  speech  are  not 
to  be  severed  from  philosophy,  I have  always  joined  the  study  of 
speaking  well  with  the  study  of  living  well.  For  although  by 
itself  living  well  may  be  nobler  than  speaking  well,  and  may 
suffice  without  its  fellow  for  one  absolved  from  the  direction  of 
affairs;  yet  for  us,  busied  with  the  State,  both  are  needed. 
For  it  is  of  the  greatest  utility  to  speak  appositely  when  persuad- 
ing, and  with  mild  discourse  check  the  fury  of  angry  men.  In 
preparing  for  such  business,  I am  eagerly  collecting  a library ; 
and  as  formerly  at  Rome  and  elsewhere  in  Italy,  so  likewise  in 
Germany  and  Belgium,  I have  obtained  copyists  and  manu- 
scripts with  a mass  of  money,  and  the  help  of  friends  in  those 
parts.  Permit  me  likewise  to  beg  of  you  also  to  promote  this 
end.  We  will  append  at  the  end  of  this  letter  a list  of  those 
writers  we  wish  copied.  We  have  sent  for  your  disposal  parch- 
ment for  the  scribes  and  money  to  defray  the  cost,  not  unmind- 
ful of  your  goodness.  Finally,  lest  by  saying  more  we  should 
abuse  epistolary  convenances , the  cause  of  so  much  trouble  is 
contempt  of  faithless  fortune ; a contempt  which  not  nature  alone 
has  given  to  us — as  to  many  men — but  careful  study.  Conse- 
quently when  at  leisure  and  when  busied  in  affairs,  we  teach 
what  we  know,  and  learn  where  we  are  ignorant.”  1 

Gerbert’s  letters  are  concise,  even  elliptical  to  the  verge 
of  obscurity.  He  discloses  himself  in  a few  words  to 
his  old  friend  Raymund  at  the  monastery  of  Aurillac : 
“With  what  love  we  are  bound  to  you,  the  Latins  know  and 
also  the  barbarians,2  who  share  the  fruit  of  our  studies. 
Their  vows  demand  your  presence.  Amid  public  cares 
philosophy  is  the  sole  solace;  and  from  her  study  we  have 
often  been  the  gainer,  when  in  this  stormy  time  we  have  thus 
broken  the  attack  of  fortune  raging  grievously  against  others 
or  ourselves.  . . .” 3 

Save  for  the  language,  one  might  fancy  Cicero  speaking 
to  some  friend,  and  not  the  future  pope  of  the  year  1000  to 
a monk.  The  sentiment  is  quite  antique.  And  Gerbert 
not  only  uses  antique  phrase  but  is  touched,  like  many  a 
mediaeval  man,  with  the  antique  spirit.  In  another  letter 
he  writes  of  friendship,  and  queries  whether  the  divinity  has 
given  anything  better  to  mortals.  He  refers  to  his  prospects, 

1 Ep.  44. 

2 Presumably  Gerbert’s  German-speaking  scholars  are  meant. 

3 Ep.  45,  Faimundo  monacho. 


288 


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and  remarks:  “sed  involvit  mundum  caeca  fortuna,”  and 
he  is  not  certain  whither  it  will  cast  him.1 

Doubtless  such  antique  sentiments  were  a matter  of 
mood  with  Gerbert;  he  can  readily  express  others  of  a 
Christian  colour,  and  turn  again  to  still  other  topics  very 
readily,  as  in  the  following  letter — a curious  one.  It  is  to  a 
monk : 

“Think  not,  sweetest  brother,  that  it  is  through  my  fault  I 
lack  my  brethren’s  society.  After  leaving  thee,  I had  to  undertake 
many  journeys  in  the  business  of  my  father  Columbanus.2  The 
ambitions  of  the  powers,  the  hard  and  wretched  times,  turn  right 
to  wrong.  No  one  keeps  faith.  Yet  since  1 know  that  all  things 
hang  on  the  decree  of  God,  who  changes  both  hearts  and  the 
kingdoms  of  the  sons  of  men,  I patiently  await  the  end  of  things. 
I admonish  and  exhort  thee,  brother,  to  do  the  same.  In  the 
meanwhile  one  thing  I beg,  which  may  be  accomplished  without 
danger  or  loss  to  thee,  and  will  make  me  thy  friend  forever.  Thou 
knowest  with  what  zeal  I gather  books  everywhere,  and  thou 
knowest  how  many  scribes  there  are  in  Italy,  in  town  and  country. 
Come  then,  quietly  procure  me  copies  of  Manlius’s  (Boethius) 
De  astrologia,  Victorinus’s  Rhetoric , Demosthenes’s  Optalmicus .3 
I promise  thee,  brother,  and  will  keep  my  word,  to  preserve  a 
sacred  silence  as  to  thy  praiseworthy  compliance,  and  will  remit 
twofold  whatever  thou  dost  demand.  Let  this  much  be  known 
to  the  man,  and  the  pay  too,  and  cheer  us  more  frequently  with 
a letter ; and  have  no  fear  that  knowledge  will  come  to  any  one 
of  any  matter  thou  mayest  confide  to  our  good  faith.”  4 

When  he  wrote  this  letter,  about  the  year  988,  Gerbert 
was  dangerously  deep  in  politics,  and  great  was  the  power  of 
this  low-born  titular  Abbot  of  Bobbio,  head  of  the  school  at 
Rheims  and  secretary  to  the  archbishop.  The  tortuous 
statescraft  and  startling  many-sidedness  of  this  “scholar  in 
politics”  must  have  disturbed  his  contemporaries,  and  may 
have  roused  the  suspicions  from  which  grew  the  stories,  told 
by  future  men,  that  this  scholar,  statesman,  and  philosopher- 
pope  was  a magician  who  had  learned  from  forbidden 
sources  much  that  should  be  veiled.  Withal,  however,  one 
may  deem  that  the  most  veritable  inner  bit  of  Gerbert  was 

1 Ep.  46,  ad  Geraldum  Abbatem. 

2 1.e.  on  the  affairs  of  the  monastery  of  Bobbio. 

3 A Greek  doctor  of  Augustus’s  time,  who  wrote  on  the  diseases  of  the  eye 

4Ep.  130. 


chap,  xii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  FRANCE 


289 


his  love  of  knowledge  and  of  antique  literature,  and  that  the 
letters  disclosing  this  are  the  subtlest  revelation  of  the  man 
who  was  ever  transmuting  his  well-guarded  knowledge  into 
himself  and  his  most  personal  moods. 

“For  there  is  nothing  more  noble  for  us  in  human  affairs  than 
a knowledge  of  the  most  distinguished  men;  and  may  it  be 
displayed  in  volumes  upon  volumes  multiplied.  Go  on  then,  as 
you  have  begun,  and  bring  the  streams  of  Cicero  to  one  who 
thirsts.  Let  M.  Tullius  thrust  himself  into  the  midst  of  the 
anxieties  which  have  enveloped  us  since  the  betrayal  of  our  city, 
so  that  in  the  happy  eyes  of  men  we  are  held  unhappy  through 
our  sentence.  What  things  are  of  the  world  we  have  sought, 
we  have  found,  we  have  accomplished,  and,  as  I will  say,  we  have 
become  chief  among  the  wicked.  Lend  aid,  father,  in  order  that 
divinity,  expelled  by  the  multitude  of  sinners,  bent  by  thy  prayers, 
may  return,  may  visit  us,  may  dwell  with  us — and  if  possible, 
may  we  who  mourn  the  absence  of  the  blessed  father  Adalberon, 
be  rejoiced  by  thy  presence.”  1 

So  Gerbert  wrote  from  Rheims,  himself  a chief  intriguer 
in  a city  full  of  treason. 

Gerbert  was  a power  making  for  letters.  The  best 
scholars  sat  at  his  feet ; he  was  an  inspiration  at  the  Courts 
of  the  second  and  third  Ottos,  who  loved  learning  and  died 
so  young ; and  the  great  school  of  Chartres,  under  the 
headship  of  his  pupil  Fulbert,  was  the  direct  heir  to  his 
instruction.  At  Rheims,  where  he  taught  so  many  years,  he 
left  to  others  the  elementary  instruction  in  Latin.  A pupil, 
Richer,  who  wrote  his  history,  speaks  of  courses  in  rhetoric 
and  literature,  to  which  he  introduced  his  pupils  after 
instructing  them  in  logic  : 

“When  he  wished  to  lead  them  on  from  such  studies  to 
rhetoric,  he  put  in  practice  his  opinion  that  one  cannot  attain 
the  art  of  oratory  without  a previous  knowledge  of  the  modes 
of  diction  which  are  to  be  learned  from  the  poets.  So  he  brought 
forward  those  with  whom  he  thought  his  pupils  should  be  con- 
versant. He  read  and  explained  the  poets  Virgil,  Statius,  and 
Terence,  the  satirists  Juvenal  and  Persius  and  Horace,  also  Lucan 
the  historiographer.  Familiarized  with  these,  and  practised  in 
their  locutions,  he  taught  his  pupils  rhetoric.  After  they  were 

1 Ep.  167  (in  Migne,  Ep.  174). 


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290 

instructed  in  this  art,  he  brought  up  a sophist,  to  practise  them 
in  disputation,  so  that  practised  in  this  art  as  well,  they  might 
seem  to  argue  artlessly,  which  he  deemed  the  height  of  oratory.”  1 

So  Gerbert  used  the  classic  poets  in  teaching  rhetoric, 
and  doubtless  the  great  prose  writers  too,  with  whom  he  was 
familiar.  Following  Cicero’s  precept  that  the  orator  should 
be  a proficient  reasoner,  he  prepared  his  young  rhetoricians 
by  a course  in  logic,  and  completed  their  discipline  with 
exercises  in  disputation. 

Richer  also  speaks  of  Gerbert’s  epoch-making  mathe- 
matical knowledge.2  In  arithmetic  he  improved  the  cur- 
rent methods  of  computation ; in  geometry  he  taught  the 
traditional  methods  of  measurement  descended  from  the 
Roman  surveyors,  and  compiled  a work  from  Boethius  and 
other  sources.  For  astronomy  he  made  spheres  and  other 
instruments,  and  in  music  his  teaching  was  the  best  obtain- 
able. In  none  of  these  provinces  was  he  an  original 
inventor;  nor  did  he  exhaust  the  knowledge  had  by  men 
before  him.  He  was,  however,  the  embodiment  of  mediaeval 
progress,  in  that  he  drew  intelligently  upon  the  sources 
within  his  reach,  and  then  taught  with  understanding  and 
enthusiasm.  Richer’s  praise  is  unstinted  : 

“He  began  with  arithmetic ; then  taught  music,  of  which  there 
had  long  been  ignorance  in  Gaul.  . . . With  what  pains  he  set 
forth  the  method  of  astronomy,  it  may  be  well  to  state,  so  that  the 
reader  may  perceive  the  sagacity  and  skill  of  this  great  man. 
This  difficult  subject  he  explained  by  means  of  admirable  instru- 
ments. First  he  illustrated  the  world’s  sphere  by  one  of  solid 
wood,  the  greater  by  the  less.  He  fixed  it  obliquely  as  to  the 
horizon  with  two  poles,  and  near  the  upper  pole  set  the  northern 
constellations,  and  by  the  lower  one  those  of  the  south.  He 
determined  its  position  by  means  of  the  circle  called  by  the  Greeks 
orizon  and  by  the  Latins  limitans,  because  it  divides  the  constella- 
tions which  are  seen  from  those  which  are  not.  By  his  sphere 
thus  fixed,  he  demonstrated  the  rising  and  setting  of  the  stars, 
and  taught  his  disciples  to  recognize  them.  And  at  night  he 
followed  their  courses  and  marked  the  place  of  their  rising  and 
setting  upon  the  different  regions  of  his  model.” 

The  historian  passes  on  to  tell  how  Gerbert  with 
ingenious  devices  showed  on  his  sphere  the  imaginary  circles 

1 Richer,  Hist.  iii.  47,  48.  2 Several  of  his  compositions  are  extant. 


chap,  xii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  FRANCE  291 

called  parallels,  and  on  another  the  movements  of  the 
planets,  and  on  still  another  marked  the  constellations  of 
the  heavens,  so  that  even  a beginner,  upon  having  one 
constellation  pointed  out,  could  find  the  others.1 

In  the  province  of  philosophy,  Gerbert’s  labours  ex- 
tended little  beyond  formal  logic,  philosophy’s  instrument. 
He  could  do  no  more  than  understand  and  apply  as  much  of 
Boethius’s  rendering  of  the  Aristotelian  Organon  as  he  was 
acquainted  with.  Yet  he  appears  to  have  used  more  of  the 
Boethian  writings  than  any  man  before  him,  or  for  a hun- 
dred and  fifty  years  after  his  death.  Richer  gives  the  list. 
Beyond  this  evidence,  curious  testimony  is  borne  to  the 
nature  of  Gerbert’s  dialectic  by  Richer’s  account  of  a notable 
debate.  The  year  was  980,  when  the  fame  of  the  brilliant 
young  scholasticus  of  Rheims  had  spread  through  Gaul  and 
penetrated  Germany.  A certain  master  of  repute  at 
Magdeburg,  named  Otric,  sent  one  of  his  pupils  to  report  on 
Gerbert’s  teaching,  and  especially  as  to  his  method  of  laying 
out  the  divisions  of  philosophy  as  “the  science  of  things 
divine  and  human.”  The  pupil  returned  with  notes  of 
Gerbert’s  classification,  in  which,  by  error  or  intention,  it  was 
made  to  appear  that  he  subordinated  physics  to  mathe- 
matics, as  species  to  genius,  whereas,  in  truth,  he  made  them 
of  equal  rank.  Otric  thought  to  catch  him  tripping,  and 
so  managed  that  a disputation  was  held  between  them  at  a 
time  when  Axlalberon  and  Gerbert  were  in  Italy  with  the 
Emperor  Otto  II.  It  took  place  in  Ravenna.  The  emperor, 
then  nineteen  years  of  age,  presided,  there  being  present 
many  masters  and  dignitaries  of  the  Church.  Holding  in 
his  hand  a tablet  of  Gerbert’s  alleged  division  of  the  sciences, 
His  Majesty  opened  the  debate  : 

“Meditation  and  discussion,  as  I think,  make  for  the  better- 
ment of  human  knowledge,  and  questions  from  the  wise  rouse  our 
thoughtfulness.  Thus  knowledge  of  things  is  drawn  forth  by  the 
learned,  or  discovered  by  them  and  committed  to  books,  which 
remain  to  our  great  good.  We  also  may  be  incited  by  certain 
objects  which  draw  the  mind  to  a surer  understanding.  Observe 
now,  that  I am  turning  over  this  tablet  inscribed  with  the  divisions 
of  philosophy.  Let  all  consider  it  carefully,  and  each  say  what  he 


1 Richer,  Hist.  iii.  48-53. 


292 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


thinks.  If  it  be  complete,  let  it  be  confirmed  by  your  approba- 
tion. If  imperfect,  let  it  be  rejected  or  corrected. 

“Then  Otric,  taking  it  before  them  all,  said  that  it  was 
arranged  by  Gerbert,  and  had  been  taken  down  from  his  lectures. 
He  handed  it  to  the  Lord  Augustus,  who  read  it  through,  and 
presented  it  to  Gerbert.  The  latter,  carefully  examining  it, 
approved  in  part,  and  in  part  condemned,  asserting  that  the 
scheme  had  not  been  arranged  thus  by  him.  Asked  by  Augustus 
to  correct  it,  he  said : ‘ Since,  O great  Caesar  Augustus,  I see  thee 
more  potent  than  all  these,  I will,  as  is  fitting,  obey  thy  behest. 
Nor  shall  I be  concerned  at  the  spite  of  the  malevolent,  by  whose 
instigation  the  very  correct  division  of  philosophy  recently  set 
forth  so  lucidly  by  me,  has  been  vitiated  by  the  substitution  of  a 
species.  I say  then,  that  mathematics,  physics,  and  theology 
are  to  be  placed  as  equals  under  one  genus.  The  genus  likewise 
has  equal  share  in  them.  Nor  is  it  possible  that  one  and  the  same 
species,  in  one  and  the  same  respect,  should  be  co-ordinate  with 
another  species  and  also  be  put  under  it  as  species  under  a genus.  ’ ” 

Then  in  answer  to  a demand  from  Otric  for  a more 
explicit  statement  of  his  classification,  he  said  there  could  be 
no  objection  to  dividing  philosophy  according  to  Vitruvius 
(Victorinus)  and  Boethius;  “for  philosophy  is  the  genus,  of 
which  the  species  are  the  practical  and  the  theoretical : under 
the  practical,  as  species  again,  come  dispensativa,  distributiva 
and  civilis;  under  the  theoretical  fall  phisica  naturalis , 
mathematica  intelligibilis,  and  theologia  intellectibilis  .” 

Otric  then  wonders  that  Gerbert  put  mathematics 
immediately  after  physics,  omitting  physiology.  To  which 
Gerbert  replies  that  physiology  stands  to  physics  as 
philology  to  philosophy,  of  which  it  is  part.  Otric  changes 
his  attack  to  a flank  movement,  and  asks  Gerbert  what  is  the 
causa  of  philosophy.  Gerbert  asks  whether  he  means  the 
cause  by  which,  or  the  cause  for  which,  it  is  devised  ( inventa ). 
Otric  replies  the  latter.  “Then,”  says  Gerbert,  “since  you 
make  your  question  clear,  I say  that  philosophy  was  devised 
that  from  it  we  might  understand  things  divine  and  human.” 
“But  why  use  so  many  words,”  says  Otric,  “to  designate 
the  cause  of  one  thing?”  “Because  one  word  may  not 
suffice  to  designate  a cause.  Plato  uses  three  to  designate 
the  cause  of  the  creation  of  the  world,  to  wit,  the  bona  Dei 
voluntas.  He  could  not  have  said  voluntas  simply.”  “But,” 


chap,  xii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  FRANCE 


293 


says  Otric,  “he  could  have  said  more  concisely  Dei  voluntas , 
for  God’s  will  is  always  good,  which  he  would  not  deny.” 

“Here  I do  not  contradict  you,”  says  Gerbert,  “but  consider: 
since  God  alone  is  good  in  himself,  and  every  creature  is  good 
only  by  participation,  the  word  bona  is  added  to  express  the 
quality  peculiar  to  His  nature  alone.  However  this  may  be, 
still  one  word  will  not  always  designate  a cause.  What  is  the 
cause  of  shadow?  Can  you  put  that  in  one  word?  I say,  the 
cause  of  shadow  is  a body  interposed  to  light.  It  is  not  <body, 
nor  even  ‘body  interposed.’  I don’t  deny  that  the  causes  of 
many  things  can  be  stated  in  one  word,  as  the  genera  of  substance, 
quantity,  or  quality,  which  are  the  causes  of  species.  Others 
cannot  be  expressed  so  simply,  as  rationale  ad  mortale .” 

This  enigmatic  phrase  electrifies  Otric,  who  cries:  “You 
put  the  mortal  under  the  rational?  Who  does  not  know 
that  the  rational  is  confined  to  God,  angels,  and  mankind, 
while  the  mortal  embraces  everything  mortal,  a limitless 
mass?” 

“To  which  Gerbert:  ‘If,  following  Porphyry  and  Boethius, 

you  make  a careful  division  of  substance,  carrying  it  down  to 
individuals,  you  will  have  the  rational  broader  than  the  mortal  as 
may  readily  be  shown.  Since  substance,  admittedly  the  most 
general  genus,  may  be  divided  into  subordinate  genera  and 
species  down  to  individuals,  it  is  to  be  seen  whether  all  these 
subordinates  may  be  expressed  by  a single  word.  Clearly,  some 
are  designated  with  one  word,  as  corpus , others  with  several,  as 
animatum  sensibile.  With  like  reason,  the  subordinate,  which  is 
animal  rationale , may  be  predicated  of  the  subject  that  is  animal 
rationale  mortale.  Not  that  rationale  may  be  predicated  of  what 
is  mortal  simply;  but  rationale , I say,  joined  to  animal  is  pre- 
dicated of  mortale  joined  to  animal  rationale .’ 

“At  this,  Augustus  with  a nod  ended  the  argument,  since  it  had 
lasted  nearly  the  whole  day,  and  the  audience  were  fatigued  with 
the  prolix  and  unbroken  disputation.  He  splendidly  rewarded 
Gerbert,  who  set  out  for  Gaul  with  Adalberon.”  1 

Evidently  Richer’s  account  gives  merely  the  captions  of 
this  disputation.  There  was  not  the  slightest  originality  in 
any  of  the  propositions  stated  by  the  disputants ; everything 
is  taken  from  Porphyry  and  Boethius  and  the  current  Latin 

1 Richer,  Hist.  iii.  cap.  55-65. 


2Q4 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


translation  of  Plato’s  Timaeus.  Yet  the  whole  affair,  the 
selection  of  the  questions,  the  nature  of  the  answers,  the 
limitation  of  the  matter  to  the  bare  poles  of  logical  palestrics, 
is  most  illustrative  of  the  mentality  and  intellectual  interests 
of  the  late  tenth  century.  The  growth  of  the  mediaeval 
intellect  lay  unavoidably  through  such  courses  of  discipline. 
And  just  as  early  mediaeval  Latin  had  to  save  itself  from 
barbarism  by  cleaving  to  grammar,  so  the  best  intellect  of 
this  early  period  grasped  at  logic  not  only  as  the  most 
obviously  needed  discipline  and  guide,  but  also  with  im- 
perfect consciousness  that  this  discipline  and  means  did  not 
contain  the  goal  and  plenitude  of  substantial  knowledge. 
Grammar  was  then  not  simply  a means  but  an  end  in  the 
study  of  letters,  and  so  was  logic  unconsciously.  In  the  one 
case  and  the  other,  the  palpable  need  of  the  disciplina  and 
its  difficulties  kept  the  student  from  realizing  that  the 
instrument  was  but  an  instrument. 

Moreover,  upon  Gerbert’s  time  pressed  the  specific  need 
to  consider  just  such  questions  as  the  disputation  affords  a 
sample  of.  An  enormous  mass  of  theology,  philosophy,  and 
science  awaited  mastering,  the  heritage  from  a greater  past, 
antique  and  patristic.  Perhaps  a true  instinct  guided 
Gerbert  and  his  contemporaries  to  problems  of  classification 
and  method  as  a primary  essential  task.  Had  the  Middle 
Ages  been  a period  when  knowledge,  however  crude,  was 
perforce  advancing  through  experience,  investigation,  and 
discovery,  the  problems  of  classification  and  method 
would  not  have  presented  themselves  as  preliminary.  But 
mediaeval  development  lay  through  the  study  of  what 
former  men  had  won  from  nature  or  received  from  God. 
This  was  preserved  in  books  which  had  to  be  studied  and 
mastered.  Hence  classifications  of  knowledge  were  essential 
aids  or  sorely  needed  guides.  With  a true  instinct  the 
Middle  Ages  first  of  all  looked  within  this  mass  of  know- 
ledge for  guides  to  its  mazes,  seeking  a plan  or  scheme  by 
the  aid  of  which  universal  knowledge  might  be  unravelled, 
and  then  reconstructed  in  forms  corresponding  to  even 
larger  verities.1 

} See  post.  Chapter  XXXVI.  If  one  should  hesitate  to  find  a phase  of  the 
veritable  Gerbert  in  Richer’s  report  of  the  disputation  with  Otric,  one  may  turn 


chap,  xii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  FRANCE 


295 


II 

The  decades  on  either  side  of  the  year  1000  were 
cramped  and  dull.  In  Burgundy,  to  be  sure,  the  energies 
of  Cluny,1  under  its  great  abbots,  were  rousing  the 
monastic  world  to  a sense  of  religious  and  disciplinary 
decency.  This  reform,  however,  took  little  interest  in 
culture.  The  monks  of  Cluny  were  commonly  instructed  in 
the  rudiments  of  the  Seven  Arts.  They  had  a little  mathe- 
matics; bits  of  crude  physical  knowledge  had  unavoidably 
come  to  them ; and  just  as  unavoidably  had  they  made  use 
of  extracts  from  the  pagan  poets  in  studying  Latinity.2 
But  they  did  not  follow  letters  for  their  own  sake,  nor 
knowledge  because  they  loved  it  and  felt  that  love  a holy 
one.  Monastic  principles  hardly  justified  such  a love,  and 
Cluny’s  abbots  had  enough  to  do  in  bringing  the  monastic 
world  to  decency,  without  dallying  with  inapplicable  know- 
ledge or  the  charms  of  pagan  poetry. 

Religious  reforms  in  the  ninth  century  had  helped 
letters  in  the  cathedral  and  monastic  schools  of  Gaul.  The 
latter  soon  fell  back  to  ignorance ; but  among  the  cathedral 
schools,  Chartres  and  Rheims  and  Laon  continued  to  flourish. 
A moral  ordering  of  life  increases  thoughtfulness  and  may 
stimulate  study.  Hence,  in  the  latter  part  of  the  tenth 
century,  the  Cluniac  reforms,  like  the  earlier  reforming 
movements,  affected  letters  favourably  in  the  monasteries. 
Here  and  there  an  exceptional  man  created  an  exceptional 

to  Gerbert’s  own  philosophic  or  logical  Libellus — de  rationali  et  ratione  uti  (Migne 
139,  col.  159-168).  It  is  addressed  to  Otto  II.,  and  the  opening  paragraph  recalls 
to  the  emperor  the  disputation  which  we  have  been  following.  The  Libellus 
is  naturally  more  coherent  than  the  disputation,  in  which  Otric’s  questions  seem 
intended  rather  to  trip  his  adversary  than  to  lead  a topic  on  to  its  proper  end. 
It  is  devoted,  however,  to  a problem  exactly  analogous  to  the  point  taken  by  Otric, 
that  the  term  rational  was  not  as  broad  as  the  term  mortal.  For  the  Libellus 
discusses  whether  the  use  of  reason  ( ratione  uti)  can  be  predicated  of  the  rational 
being  ( rationale ).  The  concept  of  the  predicate  should  be  the  broader  one,  but 
here  it  might  seem  less  broad,  since  all  reasonable  beings  do  not  exercise  reason. 
The  discussion  closely  resembles  the  dispute  in  the  character  of  the  intellectual 
interests  disclosed,  and  its  arguments  are  not  more  original  than  those  employed 
against  Otric.  Disputation  and  Libellus’ alike  represent  necessary  endeavours  of  the 
mind,  which  has  reached  a certain  stage  of  tuition  and  development,  to  adjust  itself 
with  problems  of  logical  order  and  method. 

1 Post,  Chapter  XVI. 

2 Cf.  Sackiir,  Die  Cluniacenser , ii.  330  sqq. : Pfister,  Etudes  sur  le  regne  de  Robert 
le  Pieux,  p.  2 sqq.  (the  latter  takes  an  extreme  view). 


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THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


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situation.  Such  a one  was  Abbo,  Abbot  of  St.  Benedict’s 
at  Fleury  on  the  Loire,  who  died  the  year  after  Gerbert. 
He  was  fortunate  in  his  excellent  pupil  and  biographer, 
Aimoin,  who  ascribes  to  him  as  liberal  sentiments  toward 
study  as  were  consistent  with  a stern  monasticism : 

“He  admonished  his  hearers  that  having  cast  out  the  thorns  of 
sin,  they  should  sow  the  little  gardens  of  their  hearts  with  the  spices 
of  the  divine  virtues.  The  battle  lay  against  the  vices  of  the  flesh, 
and  it  was  for  them  to  consider  what  arms  they  should  oppose 
to  its  delights.  To  complete  their  armament,  after  the  vows  of 
prayer,  and  the  manly  strife  of  fastings,  he  deemed  that  the  study 
of  letters  would  advantage  them,  and  especially  the  exercise  of 
composition.  Indeed  he  himself,  the  studious  man,  scarcely  let 
pass  a moment  when  he  was  not  reading,  writing,  or  dictating.”  1 

It  is  curious  to  observe  the  unavoidable  influence  of  a 
crude  Latin  education  upon  the  most  strenuous  of  these 
reforming  monks.  In  994  Odilo  became  Abbot  of  Cluny. 
After  a most  notable  and  effective  rule  of  more  than  half  a 
century,  he  died  just  as  the  year  1049  began.  The  closing 
scenes  are  typically  illustrative  of  the  passing  of  an  early 
mediaeval  saint.  The  dying  abbot  preaches  and  comforts  his 
monks,  gives  his  blessing,  adores  the  Cross,  repels  the  devil : 

“I  warn  thee,  enemy  of  the  human  race,  turn  from  me  thy 
plots  and  hidden  wiles,  for  by  me  is  the  Cross  of  the  Lord,  which  I 
always  adore : the  Cross  my  refuge,  my  way  and  virtue ; the 

Cross,  unconquerable  banner,  the  invincible  weapon.  The  Cross 
repels  every  evil,  and  puts  darkness  to  flight.  Through  this  divine 
Cross  I approach  my  journey;  the  Cross  is  my  life — death  to 
thee,  Enemy !” 

The  next  day,  “in  the  presence  of  all,  the  Creed  is  read 
for  a shield  of  faith  against  the  deceptions  of  malignant 
spirits  and  the  attacks  of  evil  thoughts ; Augustine  is 
brought  in  to  expound,  intently  listened  to,  and  discussed.” 2 

1 Aimoin’s  Vita  Abbonis,  cap.  7 (Migne.  Pat.  Lat.  139,  col.  393).  The  same 
volume  contains  most  of  Abbo’s  extant  writings,  and  those  of  Aimoin.  On  Abbo 
see  Sackiir,  Die  Cluniacenser,  ii.  345  sqq. 

An  incredibly  large  number  of  students  are  said  to  have  attended  Abbo’s  lec- 
tures. His  studies  and  teaching  lay  mainly  in  astronomy,  mathematics,  chronology, 
and  grammar.  The  pupil  Aimoin  cultivated  history  and  biography,  compiling  a His- 
tory of  the  Francs  and  a History  of  the  miracles  of  St.  Benedict,  the  latter  a theme 
worthy  of  the  tenth  century.  One  leaves  it  with  a sigh  of  relief,  so  barren  was  it  save 
for  its  feat  of  gestation  in  giving  birth  to  Gerbert. 

2Jotsaldus,  Vita  Odilonis  (Migne  142,  col.  1037). 


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297 


For  Odilo,  the  Cross  is  a divine,  not  to  say  magic,  safe- 
guard. His  prayer  and  imprecation  have  something  of  the 
nature  of  an  uttered  spell.  No  antique  zephyrs  seem  to 
blow  in  this  atmosphere  of  faith  and  fear,  in  which  he  passed 
his  life  and  performed  his  miracles  before  and  after  death. 
Nevertheless  the  antique  might  mould  his  phrases,  and 
perhaps  unconsciously  affect  his  ethical  conceptions.  He 
wrote  a Life  of  a former  abbot  of  Cluny,  ascribing  to  him  the 
four  cardinales  disciplinas,  in  which  he  strove  to  perfect 
himself  “in  order  that  through  prudentia  he  might  assure  the 
welfare  of  himself  and  those  in  his  charge ; that  through 
temper antia  (which  by  another  name  is  called  modestia),  by 
a proper  measure  of  a just  discretion,  he  might  modestly 
discharge  the  spiritual  business  entrusted  to  him ; that 
through  fortitudo  he  might  resist  and  conquer  the  devil  and 
his  vices;  and  that  through  justitia,  which  permeates  all 
virtues  and  seasons  them,  he  might  live  soberly  and  piously 
and  justly,  fight  the  good  fight  and  finish  his  course.”  ] 

Thus  the  antique  virtues  shape  Odilo’s  thoughts,  as  seven 
hundred  years  before  him  the  point  of  view  and  reasoning 
of  Ambrose’s  Be  officiis  ministrorum  were  set  by  Cicero’s 
Be  officiis.2  The  same  classically  touched  phrases,  if  not 
conceptions,  pass  on  to  Odilo’s  pupil  and  biographer,  the 
monk  Jotsaldus,  to  whom  we  owe  our  description  of  Odilo’s 
last  moments.  He  ascribes  the  four  cardinal  virtues  to  his 
hero,  and  then  defines  them  from  the  antique  standpoint, 
but  with  Christian  turns  of  thought : 

“The  philosophers  define  Prudence  as  the  search  for  truth  and 
the  thirst  for  fuller  knowledge.  In  which  virtue  Odilo  was  so 
distinguished  that  neither  by  day  nor  night  did  he  cease  from  the 
search  for  truth.  The  Book  of  the  divine  contemplation  was 
always  in  his  hands,  and  ceaselessly  he  spoke  of  Scripture  for  the 
edification  of  all,  and  prayer  ever  followed  reading. 

“Justice,  as  the  philosophers  say,  is  that  which  renders  each 
his  due,  lays  no  claim  to  what  is  another’s,  and  neglects  self- 
advantage, so  as  to  maintain  what  is  equitable  for  all.”  [To 
illustrate  this  virtue  in  Odilo,  the  biographer  gives  instances  of  his 

1 Odilo,  Vita  Maioli  (Migne  142,  col.  951). 

2 See  Taylor,  Classical  Heritage  of  the  Middle  Ages,  p.  74  sqq.  One  may  compare 
the  influence  of  Cicero’s  De  amicitia  on  the  De  amicitia  Christiana  of  Peter  of  Blois 
(cir.  1200),  Migne  207,  col.  871-898. 


298 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


charity,  by  which  one  observes  the  Christian  turn  taken  by  the 
conception.] 

“Fortitude  is  to  hold  the  mind  above  the  dread  of  danger, 
to  fear  nothing  save  the  base,  and  bravely  bear  adversity  and 
prosperity.  Supported  by  this  virtue,  it  is  difficult  to  say  how 
brave  he  was  in  repelling  the  plots  of  enemies  and  how  patient  in 
enduring  them.  You  might  observe  in  him  this  very  privilege 
of  patience;  to  those  who  injured  him,  as  another  David  he 
repaid  the  grace  of  benefit,  and  toward  those  who  hated  him,  he 
preserved  a stronger  benevolence.”  [Again  the  Christian  turn  of 
thought.] 

“Temperance,  last  in  the  catalogue  of  the  aforesaid  virtues, 
according  to  its  definition  maintains  moderation  and  order  in 
whatever  is  to  be  said  or  done.  Here  he  was  so  mighty  as  to  hold 
to  moderation  and  observe  propriety  ( ordinem ) in  all  his  actions 
and  commands,  and  show  a wonderful  discretion.  Following  the 
blessed  Jerome,  he  tempered  fasting  to  the  golden  mean,  according 
to  the  weakness  or  strength  of  the  body,  thus  avoiding  fanaticism 
and  preserving  continency.  Neither  elegance  nor  squalor  was 
noticeable  in  his  dress.  He  tempered  gravity  of  conduct  with 
gaiety  of  countenance.  He  was  severe  in  the  correction  of  vice 
as  the  occasion  demanded,  gracious  in  pardoning,  in  both  balanc- 
ing an  impartial  scale.”  1 


III 

A friend  of  Odilo  was  Gerbert’s  pupil  Fulbert,  Bishop  of 
Chartres  from  1006  to  1028.  His  name  is  joined  forever 
with  that  chief  cathedral  school  of  early  mediaeval  France, 
which  he  so  firmly  and  so  broadly  re-established  as  to  earn 
a founder’s  fame.  It  will  be  interesting  to  notice  its  range 
of  studies.  Chartres  was  an  ancient  home  of  letters. 
Caesar  2 speaks  of  the  land  of  the  Carnuti  as  the  centre  of 
Druidism  in  Gaul;  and  under  the  Empire,  liberal  studies 
quickly  sprang  up  in  the  Gallo-Roman  city.  They  did  not 
quite  cease  even  in  Merovingian  times,  and  revived  with  the 
Carolingian  revival.  Thenceforth  they  were  pursued  con- 
tinuously at  the  convent  school  of  St.  Peter,  if  not  at  the 
school  attached  to  the  cathedral.  For  some  years  before 
he  was  made  bishop,  the  grave  and  kindly  Fulbert  had  been 
the  head  of  this  cathedral  school,  where  he  did  not  cease 

1 Vita  Odilottis,  chaps,  vi.-xiii.  (Migne  142,  col.  909  sqq.). 

2 B.  G.  vi.  13. 


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299 


to  teach  until  his  death.  As  bishop,  widely  esteemed  and 
influential,  he  rebuilt  the  cathedral,  aided  by  the  kings  of 
France  and  Denmark,  the  dukes  of  Aquitaine  and  Normandy, 
the  counts  of  Champagne  and  Blois.  His  vast  crypt  still 
endures,  a shadowy  goal  for  thousands  of  pilgrim  knees,  and 
an  ample  support  for  the  great  edifice  above  it.  Admiring 
tradition  has  ascribed  to  him  even  this  glory  of  a later 
time. 

From  near  and  far,  pious  students  came  to  benefit  by 
the  instruction  of  the  school,  of  which  Fulbert  was  the  head 
and  inspiration.  Their  intercourse  was  intimate  with  their 
“ Venerable  Socrates”  in  the  small  school  buildings  near  the 
cathedral.  From  the  accounts,  we  can  almost  see  him 
moving  among  them,  stopping  to  correct  one  here,  or  look- 
ing over  the  shoulder  of  another  engaged  upon  a geometric 
figure,  and  putting  some  new  problem.  Among  the  pupils 
there  might  be  rivalry,  quarrels,  breaches  of  decorum ; but 
there  was  the  master,  ever  grave  and  steadfast,  always  ready 
to  encourage  with  his  sympathy,  but  prepared  also  to 
reprove,  either  silently  by  withdrawing  his  confidence,  or 
in  words,  as  when  he  forbade  an  instructor  to  joke 
when  explaining  Donatus : “spectaculum  factus  es  omnibus; 
cave.” 

Some  of  these  scholars  became  men  of  sanctity  and 
renown — Berengar  of  Tours  gained  an  unhappy  fame.  A 
fellow-student  wrote  to  him  in  later  years  addressing  him  as 
foster-brother : 

“I  have  called  thee  foster-brother  because  of  that  sweetest 
common  life  led  by  us  while  youths  in  the  Academy  of  Chartres 
under  our  venerable  Socrates.  Well  we  proved  his  saving  doctrine 
and  holy  living,  and  now  that  he  is  with  God  we  should  hope  to  be 
aided  by  his  prayers.  Surely  he  is  mindful  of  us,  cherishing  us 
even  more  than  when  he  moved  a pilgrim  in  the  body  of  this  death, 
and  drew  us  to  him  by  vows  and  tacit  prayer,  entreating  us  in 
those  evening  colloquies  (vespertina  colloquia ) in  the  garden  by  the 
chapel,  that  we  should  tread  the  royal  way,  and  cleave  to  the 
footprints  of  the  holy  fathers.”  1 

The  cathedral  school  included  youths  receiving  their  first 
lessons,  as  well  as  older  scholars  and  instructors.  They 

1 Migne  143,  col.  1290. 


3oo  THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND  book  ii 

lived  together  under  rules,  and  together  celebrated  the 
services  of  the  cathedral,  chanting  the  matins,  the  v hours, 
and  the  mass.  The  Trivium  and  Quadrivium  made  the 
basis  of  their  studies.  Text-books  and  courses  were  already 
some  centuries  old. 

The  first  branch  of  the  Trivium  was  Grammar,  which 
included  literature  by  way  of  illustration;  and  he  who  held 
the  chair  had  the  title  of  grammaticus.  For  the  beginners, 
Donatus  was  the  text-book,  and  Priscianus  for  the  more 
advanced.1  Nor  was  Martianus  Capella  neglected.  The 
student  annotated  these  works  with  citations  from  the 
Etymologies  of  Isidore.  Divers  mnemotechnic  processes 
assisted  him  to  commit  the  contents  to  memory.  The 
grammatical  course  included  the  writing  of  compositions 
in  prose  and  verse,  according  to  rule,  and  the  reading  of 
classic  authors.  For  their  school  verses  in  metre  the  pupils 
used  Bede’s  De  arte  metrica,  an  encyclopaedia  of  metrical 
forms.  They  also  wrote  accentual  and  rhymed  Latin  verse. 
Of  profane  authors  the  Library  appears  to  have  contained 
Livy,  Valerius  Maximus,  Virgil,  Ovid,  Horace,  Statius, 
Servius  the  commentator  on  Virgil ; and  of  writers  who  were 
Christian  Classics  in  the  Middle  Ages,  Orosius,  Gregory  of 
Tours,  Fortunatus,  Sedulius,  Arator,  Prudentius,  and 
Boethius,  the  last  named  being  the  most  important  single 
source  of  early  mediaeval  education.  Rhetoric,  the  second 
branch  of  the  Trivium,  bore  that  vague  relationship  to 
grammar  which  it  bears  in  modern  parlance.  The  rules  of 
the  rhetoricians  were  learned ; the  works  of  profane  or 
Christian  orators  were  read  and  imitated.  This  study  left 
its  mark  on  mediaeval  sermons  and  Vitae  Sanctorum. 

As  for  the  third  branch,  Dialectic,  Fulbert’s  pupils 
studied  the  logical  treatises  in  general  use  in  the  earlier 
Middle  Ages : to  wit,  the  Categories  and  the  De  inter- 
pretation of  Aristotle,  and  Porphyry’s  Introduction , all  in 
the  Latin  of  Boethius.  For  works  which  might  be  regarded 
as  commentaries  upon  these,  the  school  had  at  its  disposal 
the  Categories  ascribed  to  Augustine  and  Apuleius’s  De 
interpretation,  Cicero’s  Topica , and  Boethius’s  discussion 
of  definition,  division,  and  categorical  and  hypothetical 

1 For  a description  of  these  works  see  post,  Chapter  XXXI.  n. 


chap,  xii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  FRANCE 


301 


syllogisms — the  logical  writings  expounded  by  Gerbert  at 
Rheims.  The  school  had  likewise  Gerbert’s  own  Libellus  de 
ratione  uti  and  Boethius’s  De  consolatione , that  chief  ethical 
compend  for  the  early  Middle  Ages;  also  the  writings  of 
Eriugena,  and  Dionysius  the  Areopagite  in  Eriugena ’s 
translation.  Whether  or  not  it  possessed  the  current  Latin 
version  of  Plato’s  Timaeus , Fulbert  and  Berengar  at  all 
events  refer  to  Plato  in  terms  of  eulogy. 

Passing  to  the  Quadrivium,  we  find  that  Fulbert  had 
studied  its  four  branches  under  Gerbert.  In  Arithmetic  the 
students  used  the  treatise  of  Boethius,  and  also  the  Abacus, 
a table  of  vertical  columns,  with  Roman  numerals  at  the 
top  to  indicate  the  order  of  units,  tens,  and  hundreds 
according  to  the  decimal  system.  In  Geometry  the  students 
likewise  fell  back  upon  Boethius.  Astronomy,  the  third 
branch  of  the  Quadrivium,  had  for  its  practical  object  the 
computation  of  the  Church’s  calendar.  The  pupils  learned 
the  signs  of  the  Zodiac  and  were  instructed  in  the  method 
of  finding  the  stars  by  the  Astrolabius , a sphere  (such  as 
Gerbert  had  constructed)  representing  the  constellations, 
and  turning  upon  a tube  as  an  axis,  which  served  to  fix 
the  polar  star.  Music,  the  fourth  branch  of  the  Quadrivium, 
was  zealously  cultivated.  For  its  theory,  the  treatise  of 
Boethius  was  studied ; and  Fulbert  and  his  scholars  did 
much  to  advance  the  music  of  the  liturgy,  composing  texts 
and  airs  for  organ  chanting. 

In  addition  to  the  Quadrivium,  medicine  was  taught. 
The  students  learned  receipts  and  processes  handed  down 
by  tradition  and  commonly  ascribed  to  Hippocrates.  For 
more  convenient  memorizing,  Fulbert  cast  them  into  verse. 
Such  “ medicine”  was  not  founded  on  observation;  and  a 
mediaeval  scholar-copyist  would  as  naturally  transcribe  a 
medical  receipt-book  as  any  other  work  coming  within  the 
range  of  his  stylus.  One  may  remember  that  in  the  early 
Middle  Ages  the  relic  was  the  common  means  of  cure. 

The  seven  Artes  of  the  Trivium  and  Quadrivium  were 
the  handmaids  of  Theology ; and  Fulbert  gave  elaborate 
instruction  in  this  Christian  queen  of  the  sciences,  expound- 
ing the  Scriptures,  explaining  the  Liturgy,  and  taking  up 
the  controversies  of  the  time.  As  a part  of  this  sacred 


302 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


science,  the  students  apparently  were  taught  something  of 
Canon  and  Roman  law  and  of  Charlemagne’s  Capitularies.1 


IV 

The  Chartres  Quadrivium  represents  the  extreme  com- 
pass of  mathematical  and  physical  studies  in  France  in 
the  eleventh  century,  when  slight  interest  was  taken  in 
physical  science — a phrase  far  too  grand  to  designate  the 
crass  traditional  views  of  nature  which  prevailed.  Indiffer- 
ence to  natural  knowledge  was  the  most  palpable  intellectual 
defect  of  Ambrose  and  Augustine,  and  the  most  portentous. 
The  coming  centuries,  which  were  to  look  upon  their 
writings  as  universal  guides  to  living  and  knowing,  found 
therein  no  incentive  to  observe  or  study  the  natural  world. 
Of  course  the  Carolingian  period  evolved  out  of  itself  no 
such  desire ; 2 nor  did  the  eleventh  century.  At  the  best, 
the  general  understanding  of  physical  fact  remained  that 
which  had  been  handed  down.  It  was  gleaned  from  the 
books  commonly  read,  the  Physiologus  or  the  edifying 
stories  of  miracles  in  the  myriad  Vitae  Sanctorum , quite  as 
much  as  from  the  scant  information  given  in  Isidore’s 
OrigineSj  Bede’s  Liber  de  temporibus , or  the  Be  universo  of 
Rabanus  Maurus. 

So  much  for  natural  science.  In  historical  writing  the 
quality  of  composition  rarely  rose  above  that  of  the  tenth 
century.3  No  sign  of  critical  acumen  had  appeared,  and 
the  writers  of  the  period  show  but  a narrow  local  interest. 
There  was  no  France,  but  everywhere  a parcelling  of  the 
land  into  small  sections  of  misrule,  between  which  travel 
was  difficult  and  dangerous.  The  chroniclers  confine  their 
attention,  as  doubtless  their  knowledge  also  was  confined, 
to  the  region  where  they  lived.  To  lift  history  over  these 
narrow  barriers,  there  was  needed  the  renewal  of  the  royal 

1 The  substance  of  this  sketch  of  the  school  of  Chartres  is  taken  chiefly  from 
the  Abbe  Clerval’s  exhaustive  study,  “Les  Ecoles  de  Chartres  au  moyen  age,” 
Memoires  de  la  Societe  archeologique  d'Eure-et-Loir,  xi.,  1895.  For  the  later  fortunes 
of  this  school  see  post , Chapter  XXXI. 

2 Unless  possibly  in  the  mind  of  Eriugena. 

3 The  Histories  of  Gerbert’s  pupil  Richer  are  somewhat  better,  and  show  an 
imitation  of  Sallust. 


chap,  xii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  FRANCE  303 

power,  which  came  with  the  century’s  close,  and  the  stimulus 
to  curiosity  springing  from  the  Crusades.1 

In  fine,  the  eleventh  century  was  crude  and  inchoate, 
preparatory  to  the  intellectual  activity  and  the  unleashed 
energies  of  life  which  mark  the  opening  of  the  twelfth.  Yet 
the  mediaeval  mind  was  assimilating  and  appropriating 
dynamically  its  lessons  from  the  Fathers,  as  well  as  those 
portions  of  the  antique  heritage  of  thought  which,  so  far,  it 
had  felt  a need  of.  Difficult  problems  were  stated,  but  in 
ways  presenting,  as  it  were,  the  apices  of  alternatives  too 
narrow  to  hold  truth,  which  lies  less  frequently  in  warring 
opposites  than  in  an  inclusive  and  discriminating  conciliation. 
This  century,  especially  when  we  fix  our  attention  upon 
France,  appears  as  the  threshold  of  mediaeval  thinking,  the 
immediate  antecedent  to  mediaeval  formulations  of  philo- 
sophic and  theological  conviction.  The  controversies  and 
the  different  mental  tendencies  which  thereafter  were  to 
move  through  such  large  and  often  diverging  courses,  drew 
their  origin  from  still  prior  times.  With  the  coming  of  the 
eleventh  century  they  had  been  sturdily  cradled,  and  seemed 
safe  from  the  danger  of  dying  in  infancy.  Thence  on  through 
the  twelfth  century,  through  the  thirteenth,  the  climacteric 
of  mediaeval  thought,  opinions  and  convictions  are  set  in 
multitudes  of  propositions,  relating  to  many  provinces  of 
human  meditation. 

These  masses  of  propositions,  convictions,  opinions, 
philosophic  and  religious,  constitute  the  religious  philosophy 
of  the  Middle  Ages — scholasticism  as  it  commonly  is  called. 
Hereafter  2 it  will  be  necessary  to  consider  that  large  matter 
in  its  continuity  of  development,  with  its  roots  or  anteced- 
ents stretching  back  through  the  eleventh  century  to  the 
Carolingian  period,  and  beyond.  Mediaeval  thinkers  will 
then  be  seen  to  fall  into  two  classes,  very  roughly  speaking, 
the  one  tending  to  set  authority  above  reason,  and  the  other 
tending  to  set  reason  above  authority.  Both  classes  appear 
in  the  ninth  century,  represented  respectively  by  Rabanus 
Maurus  and  Eriugena.  In  the  eleventh  they  are  also 
evident.  St.  Anselm,  who  came  from  Italy,  is  the  most 

1 Cf.  Molinier,  Les  Sources  de  Vhistoire  de  France,  v.,  lxix. 

2 Post,  Chapters  XXXV.-XLIII. 


304 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


admirable  representative  of  the  first  class,  being  in  heart  and 
mind  a theologian  whose  philosophy  revolved  entire  around 
his  faith.  Of  him  we  have  spoken ; and  here  may  mention 
in  contrast  with  him  two  Frenchmen,  Berengar  of  Tours  and 
Roscellinus.  In  place  and  time  they  come  within  the 
scope  of  the  present  chapter ; nor  were  their  mental 
processes  such  as  to  attach  them  to  a later  period.  By 
temperament,  and  in  somewhat  confused  expression,  they 
set  reason  above  authority,  save  that  of  Scripture  as  they 
understood  it. 

Berengar  was  born,  apparently  at  Tours,  and  of  wealthy 
parents,  just  as  the  tenth  century  closed.  After  studying 
under  his  uncle,  the  Treasurer  of  St.  Martin,  he  came 
to  Chartres,  where  Fulbert  was  bishop.  Judging  from  a 
general  consensus  of  expression  from  men  who  became  his 
opponents,  but  had  been  his  fellow-pupils,  he  quickly  aroused 
attention  by  his  talents,  and  anxiety  or  enmity  by  his  pride 
and  the  self-confident  assertion  of  his  opinions.  He  would 
neither  accept  with  good  grace  the  admonitions  of  those 
about  him,  nor  follow  the  authority  of  the  Fathers.  He  was 
said  to  have  despised  even  the  great  grammarians  and 
logicians,  Priscian,  Donatus,  and  Boethius.  Why  err  with 
everybody  if  everybody  errs,  he  asked.  He  appears  as  a 
vain  man  eager  for  admiration.  The  report  comes  down 
that  he  imitated  Fulbert’s  manner  in  lecturing,  first  covering 
his  visage  with  a hood  so  as  to  seem  in  deep  meditation,  and 
then  speaking  in  a gentle,  plaintive  voice.  From  Chartres 
he  passed  to  Angers,  where  he  filled  the  office  of  archdeacon, 
and  thence  he  returned  to  Tours,  was  placed  over  the 
Church  schools  of  St.  Martin’s,  and  in  the  course  of  time 
began  to  lecture  on  the  Eucharist.  This  was  between  the 
years  1030  and  1040. 

That  a man’s  fortunes  and  fame  are  linked  to  a certain 
doctrine  or  controversy  may  be  an  accident  of  environment. 
Berengar  chose  to  adduce  and  partly  follow  the  teachings  of 
Eriugena,  whose  fame  was  great,  but  whose  orthodoxy  was 
tainted.  The  nature  of  the  Eucharist  lent  itself  to  dispute, 
and  from  the  time  of  Ratramnus,  Radbertus,  and  Eriugena 
it  was  common  for  theologians  to  try  their  hand  on  it,  if 
only  in  order  to  demonstrate  their  adherence  to  the  extreme 


chap,  xii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  FRANCE 


305 


doctrines  accepted  by  the  Church.  These  were  not  the 
doctrines  of  Eriugena,  nor  were  they  held  by  Berengar,  who 
would  not  bring  himself  to  admit  an  absolute  substantial 
change  in  the  bread  and  wine.  Possibly  his  convictions 
were  less  irrational  than  the  dominant  doctrine.  Yet  he 
appears  to  have  asserted  them,  not  because  he  had  a clearer 
mind  than  others,  but  by  reason  of  his  more  self-assertive 
and  combative  temperament.  He  was  not  an  original 
thinker,  but  a controversial  and  turgid  reasoner,  who 
naturally  enough  was  forced  into  all  kinds  of  tergiversation 
in  order  to  escape  condemnation  as  a heretic.  His  self- 
assertiveness settled  on  the  most  obvious  theological 
dispute  of  the  time,  and  his  self-esteem  maintained  the 
superiority  of  his  own  reason  over  the  authorities  adduced 
by  his  adversaries.  Of  course  he  never  impugned  the 
authority  of  Scripture,  but  relied  on  it  to  substantiate  his 
views,  merely  asserting  that  a reasonable  interpretation  was 
better  than  a foolish  one.  Throughout  the  controversy,  one 
may  observe  that  Berengar’s  understanding  of  fact  kept 
somewhat  closer  than  that  of  his  opponents  to  the  tangible 
realities  of  sense.  But  a difference  of  intellectual  tempera- 
ment lay  at  the  bottom  of  his  dissent;  and  had  not  the 
Eucharist  presented  itself  as  the  readiest  topic  of  dispute, 
he  would  doubtless  have  fallen  upon  some  other  question. 
As  it  was,  his  arguments  gained  adherents,  the  dominant 
view  being  repellent  to  independent  minds.  Still,  it  won  the 
day,  and  Berengar  was  condemned  by  more  than  one 
council,  and  forced  into  all  manner  of  equivocal  retractions, 
by  which  at  least  he  saved  his  life,  and  died  in  extreme  old 
age. 

It  may  be  that  a larger  relative  import  attributed  by 
Berengar  and  also  Roscellin  to  the  tangibilities  of  sense- 
perception,  led  the  latter  at  the  close  of  the  century  to  put 
forth  views  on  the  nature  of  universals  which  have  given 
him  a shadowy  repute  as  the  father  of  nominalism.  The 
Eucharistic  controversy  pertained  primarily  to  Christian 
dogmatics.  That  regarding  universals,  or  general  ideas, 
pertains  to  philosophy,  and,  from  the  standpoint  of  formal 
logic,  lies  at  the  foundation  of  consistent  thinking.  So 
closely  does  it  make  part  of  the  development  of  scholasticism, 
VOL.  I X 


3°6 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


that  its  discussion  had  best  be  postponed ; merely  assuming 
for  the  present  that  Roscellin’s  thinking  upon  the  topic  to 
which  his  name  is  attached  was  not  superior  in  method 
and  analysis  to  Berengar’s  upon  the  Eucharist. 

One  cannot  escape  the  conclusion  that  intellectually  the 
eleventh  century  in  France  was  crude.  The  mediaeval 
intellect  was  still  but  imperfectly  developed ; its  manifesta- 
tions had  not  reached  the  zenith  of  their  energy.  Yet 
doubtless  the  mental  development  of  mankind  proceeds  at 
a more  uniform  rate  than  would  appear  from  the  brilliant 
phenomena  which  crowd  the  eras  of  apparent  culmination, 
in  contrast  with  the  previous  dulness.  The  profounder 
constancy  of  growth  may  be  discerned  by  scrutinizing  those 
dumb  courses  of  gestation,  from  which  spring  the  marvels  of 
the  great  epoch.  The  opening  of  the  twelfth  century  was 
to  inaugurate  a brilliant  intellectual  era  in  France.  The 
efficient  preparation  stretched  back  into  the  latter  half  of 
the  eleventh,  whose  Catholic  progress  heralded  a period  of 
awakening.  The  Church  already  was  striving  to  accomplish 
its  own  reordering  and  regeneration,  free  itself  from  things 
that  drag  and  hinder,  from  lay  investiture  and  simony, 
abominations  through  which  feudal  depotentiating  principles 
had  intruded  into  the  ecclesiastic  body ; free  itself  likewise 
from  clerical  marriage  and  concubinage,  which  kept  the 
clergy  from  being  altogether  clergy,  and  weighted  the 
Church  with  the  claims  of  half-spurious  priests’  offspring. 
In  France  the  reform  of  the  monks  comes  first,  impelled 
by  Cluny;  and  when  Cluny  herself  becomes  less  zealous, 
because  too  great  and  rich,  the  spirit  of  soldiery  against  sin 
reincarnates  itself  in  the  Grand-Chartreuse,  in  Citeaux  and 
Clairvaux.  The  reform  of  the  secular  clergy  follows,  with 
Hildebrand  the  veritable  master ; for  the  Church  was 
passing  from  prelacy  to  papacy,  and  the  Pope  was  becoming 
a true  monarch,  instead  of  nominal  head  of  an  episcopal 
aristocracy. 

The  perfected  organization  and  unceasing  purification  of 
the  Church  made  one  part  of  the  general  progress  of  the 
period.  Another  consisted  in  the  disengaging  of  the  greater 
powers  from  out  the  indiscriminate  anarchy  of  feudalism, 
and  the  advance  of  the  French  monarchy,  under  Louis  the 


CHAP,  xn  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  FRANCE  307 

Sixth,3  toward  effective  sovereignty,  all  making  for  a surer 
law  and  order  throughout  France.  Then  through  the 
eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries  came  the  struggle  of  the 
people,  out  of  serfdom  into  some  control  over  their  own 
persons  and  fortunes.  Everywhere  the  population  increased ; 
old  cities  grew  apace,  and  a multitude  of  new  ones  came  into 
existence.  Economic  evolution  progressed,  advancing  with 
the  affranchisement  of  industry,  the  organization  of  guilds, 
the  growth  of  trade,  the  opening  of  new  markets,  fairs,  and 
freer  avenues  of  commerce.  Architecture  with  new  civic 
resources  was  pushing  on  through  Romanesque  toward 
Gothic,  while  the  affiliated  arts  of  sculpture  and  painting 
were  becoming  more  expressive.  The  Crusades  began,  and 
did  their  work  of  spreading  knowledge  through  the  Occident, 
carrying  foreign  ideas  and  institutions  across  provincial 
barriers.  They  could  not  have  taken  place  had  it  not  been 
for  the  freeing  of  social  forces  during  the  half  century 
preceding  their  inception  in  the  year  1096. 2 

Thus  humanity  was  universally  bestirring  itself  through- 
out the  land  we  know  as  France.  Such  a bestirring  could 
not  fail  to  crown  itself  with  a mightier  winging  of  the  spirit 
through  the  higher  provinces  of  thought.  This  was  to  show 
itself  among  saints  and  doctors  of  the  Church  in  their 
philosophies  and  theologies  of  the  mind  and  heart;  with 
like  power  it  was  to  show  itself  among  those  hardier 
rationalists  who  with  difficulty  and  misgivings,  or  under 
hard  compulsion,  still  kept  themselves  within  the  Church’s 
pale.  It  showed  itself  too  with  heretics  who  let  themselves 
be  burned  rather  than  surrender  their  outlawed  convictions. 
It  was  also  to  show  itself  through  things  beautiful,  in  the 
strivings  of  art  toward  the  perfect  symbolical  presentation 
of  what  the  soul  cherished  or  abhorred;  and  show  itself 
too  in  the  literature  of  the  common  tongues  as  well 
as  the  literature  of  the  time-honoured  Latin.  In  fine  it 
was  to  show  itself,  through  every  heightened  faculty  and 
appetition  of  the  universally  striving  and  desirous  soul  of 
man,  in  a larger,  bolder  understanding  and  appreciation 
of  life. 

1 Bom  1078;  king  from  1108  to  1137. 

2 See  post,  Chapter  XIV. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


MENTAL  ASPECTS  OF  THE  ELEVENTH  CENTURY  : 
GERMANY  ; ENGLAND  ; CONCLUSION 

I.  German  Appropriation  of  Christianity  and  Antique 
Culture. 

II.  Othloh’s  Spiritual  Conflict. 

III.  England;  Closing  Comparisons. 

I 

In  the  Germans  of  the  eleventh  century  one  notes  a strong 
sense  of  German  selfhood,  supplemented  by  a consciousness 
that  Latin  culture  is  a foreign  matter,  introduced  as  a thing 
of  great  value  which  it  were  exceeding  well  for  them  to 
make  their  own.  They  are  even  conscious  of  having  been 
converted  to  Latin  Christianity,  which  on  their  part  they  are 
imbuing  with  German  thoughts  and  feeling.  They  are  not 
Romance  people ; they  have  never  spoken  Latin ; it  has 
never  been  and  will  never  be  their  speech.  They  will 
master  what  they  can  of  the  antique  education  which  has 
been  brought  to  them.  But  even  as  it  was  no  part  of  their 
forefathers’  lives,  so  it  will  never  penetrate  their  own  per- 
sonalities, so  as  to  make  them  the  spiritual  descendants  of 
any  antique  Latin  or  Latinized  people.  They  have  never 
been  and  never  will  be  Latinized;  but  will  remain  forever 
Germans. 

Consequently  the  appropriation  of  the  Latin  culture  in 
Germany  is  a labour  of  translation : first  a palpable  labour 
of  translation  from  the  Latin  language  into  the  German 
tongue,  and  secondly,  and  for  always,  a more  subtle  kind  of 
translation  of  the  antique  influence  into  a German  under- 
standing of  the  same,  and  gradually  into  informing  principles 

30S 


chap,  xiii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  GERMANY  309 


made  use  of  by  a strong  and  advancing  racial  genius.  The 
German  genius  will  be  enlarged  and  developed  through  these 
foreign  elements,  but  it  will  never  cease  to  use  the  Latin 
culture  as  a means  of  informing  and  developing  itself. 

No  need  to  say  that  these  strong  statements  apply  to 
the  Germans  in  their  home  north  of  the  Alps  and  east  of 
the  Rhine ; not  to  those  who  left  the  Fatherland,  and  in  the 
course  of  generations  became  Italians,  for  example.  More- 
over, general  phrases  must  always  be  taken  subject  to 
qualification  and  rounding  of  the  corners.  No  people  can 
absorb  a foreign  influence  without  in  some  degree  being 
made  over  into  the  likeness  of  what  they  are  receiving,  and 
to  that  extent  ceasing  to  be  their  unmitigated  selves.  In 
general,  however,  while  Latin  Christianity  and  the  antique 
culture  both  were  brought  to  Germany  from  abroad,  the 
Germans  were  converted  or  transformed  only  by  the  former, 
and  merely  took  and  used  the  latter — a true  statement  this, 
so  far  as  one  may  separate  these  two  great  mingled  factors 
of  mediaeval  progress. 

Evidently  those  Germans  of  the  opening  mediaeval 
centuries  who  did  most  to  advance  the  civilization  of  their 
people  were  essentially  introducers  of  foreign  culture.  This 
was  manifestly  true  of  the  missionaries  (chief  among  whom 
was  the  Anglo-Saxon  Boniface)  who  brought  Christianity  to 
Germany.  It  was  true  both  as  to  the  Christian  and  the 
secular  learning  of  Rabanus  Maurus,  who  was  born  at  Mainz, 
a very  German.1  With  all  his  Latin  learning  he  kept  his 
interest  in  his  mother  tongue,  and  always  realized  that  his 
people  spoke  German  and  not  Latin.  He  encouraged 
preaching  in  German ; and  with  the  aid  of  his  favourite 
pupil,  Walafrid,  he  prepared  German  glosses  and  Latin- 
German  glossaries  for  Scripture. 

Before  Rabanus’s  death  popular  translations  of  the  Gos- 
pels had  appeared,  imbued  with  the  Germanic  spirit.  The 
Heliand  and  Otfrid’s  Evangelienbuch  are  the  best  known  of 
these.2  Then,  extending  through  the  last  part  of  the  tenth 
and  the  first  part  of  the  eleventh  century  we  note  the  labours 
of  that  most  diligent  of  translators,  Notker  the  German, 
a monk  of  St.  Gall,  and  member  of  the  Ekkehart  family, 

1 Ante,  p.  221  sqq.  1 Ante,  p.  203  sqq. 


3IQ 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


which  gave  so  many  excellent  abbots  to  that  cloister.  He 
died  in  1022.  Like  Bede,  Rabanus,  and  many  other 
Teutonic  scholars,  he  was  an  encyclopaedia  of  the  knowledge 
afforded  by  his  time.  He  was  the  head  of  a school  of 
German  translators.  His  own  translations  covered  part  of 
Boethius’s  De  consolatione , Virgil’s  Bucolics , Terence’s  Andria, 
Martinus  Capella’s  De  nuptiis , Aristotle’s  Categories  and  De 
interpretation,  an  arithmetic,  a rhetoric,  Job,  and  the  Psalms. 
He  was  a teacher  all  his  life,  and  a German  always,  loving 
his  mother  tongue,  and  occupying  himself  with  its  grammar 
and  word  forms.  His  method  of  translation  was  to  give  the 
Latin  sentence,  with  a close  German  rendering,  accompanied 
by  an  occasional  explanation  of  the  matter,  also  in  German.1 
All  the  while,  this  foreign  learning  was  being  mastered 
gallantly  in  the  leading  cloisters,  Fulda,  St.  Gall,  Reichenau, 
Hersfeld,  and  others.  Within  their  walls  this  Latin  culture 
was  studied  and  mastered,  as  one  with  resolve  and  persever- 
ance masters  that  to  which  he  is  not  born. 

Besides  those  who  laboured  as  translators,  other  earnest 
fosterers  of  learning  in  Germany  appear  as  introducers  of 
the  same.  Bruno,  youngest  brother  of  Otto  I.,  is  distin- 
guished in  this  role.  He  promoted  letters  in  his  archiepis- 
copal  diocese  of  Cologne.  From  many  lands  learned  men 
came  to  him,  Liutprand  and  Ratherius  among  others.  Otto 
himself  loved  learning,  and  drew  foreign  scholars  to  his  Court, 
one  of  whom  was  that  conceited  Gunzo,  already  spoken  of.2 

1 On  Notker  see  Piper,  Die  dlteste  Litteratur  (Deutsche  Nat.  Lit.),  pp.  337-340. 

2 Ante,  Chapter  XI.,  where  something  was  said  of  Liutprand  also.  Ratherius 

was  a restless  intriguer  and  pamphleteer,  a sort  of  stormy  petrel,  who  was  born 
in  890  near  Liege.  In  the  course  of  his  career  he  was  once  bishop  of  that  northern 
city,  and  three  times  bishop  of  Verona,  where  he  died,  an  old  man  of  angry  soul 
and  bitter  tongue.  Two  years  and  more  had  he  passed  in  a dungeon  at  Pavia — 
a sharpening  experience  for  one  already  given  overmuch  to  hate.  There  he  com- 
piled his  rather  dreary  six  books  of  Praeloquia  (Migne  136,  col.  145-344),  Pre- 
paratory discourses,  perhaps  precursive  of  another  work,  but  at  all  events  con- 
taining moral  instruction  for  all  orders  of  society.  It  was  in  the  nature  of  a com- 
pilation, and  yet  touched  with  a strain  of  personal  plaint,  which  sometimes  makes 
itself  clearly  audible  in  words  that  show  this  work  to  have  been  its  author’s  prison 
consolatio : “Think  what  anguish  impelled  me  to  it,  what  calamity,  what  necessity 

showed  me  these  paths  of  authorship.  Dread  of  forgetting  was  my  first  reason 
for  writing.  Buried  under  all  sorts  of  the  rubbish  of  wickedness,  surrounded  by 
the  darkness  of  evil,  and  distracted  with  the  clamours  of  affairs,  I feared  that  I 
should  forget,  and  was  delighted  to  find  how  much  I could  remember.  Books 
were  lacking,  and  friends  to  talk  with,  while  sorrow  gnawed  the  soul;  so  I used 
this  book  of  mine  as  a friend  to  chat  with,  and  was  comforted  by  it  as  by  a companion. 


chap,  xiii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  GERMANY  31 1 


Schools  moved  with  the  emperor  ( scholae  translatitiae) , also 
with  Bruno,  who  though  archbishop,  duke,  and  burdened 
with  affairs,  took  the  time  to  teach.  A passage  in  his  Life 
by  Ruotger  shows  the  education  and  accomplishments  of 
this  most  worthy  prince  of  the  Church  and  land  : 

“Then  as  soon  as  he  learned  the  first  rudiments  of  the 
grammatic  art,  as  we  have  heard  from  himself,  often  pondering 
upon  this  to  the  glory  of  the  omnipotent  God  he  began  to  read 
the  poet  Prudentius,  at  the  instance  of  his  master.  This  poet,  as 
he  is  catholic  in  faith  and  argument,  eminent  for  eloquence  and 
truth,  and  most  elegant  in  the  variety  of  his  works  and  metres, 
with  so  great  sweetness  quickly  pleased  the  palate  of  his  heart, 
that  at  once,  with  greater  avidity  than  can  be  expressed,  he  drank 
up  not  only  the  knowledge  of  the  outer  word,  but  even  the  marrow 
of  the  innermost  meaning  and  purest  nectar,  if  I may  so  say. 
Afterwards  there  was  no  branch  of  liberal  study  in  all  Greek  or 
Latin  eloquence,  that  escaped  the  quickness  of  his  genius.  Nor 
indeed,  as  often  happens,  did  the  multitude  of  riches,  or  the 
insistency  of  clamouring  crowds,  nor  any  disgust  otherwise  coming 
over  him,  ever  turn  his  mind  from  this  noble  employment  of 
leisure.  . . . Often  he  seated  himself  as  a learned  arbiter  in  the 
midst  of  the  most  learned  Greek  and  Latin  doctors,  when  they 
argued  on  the  sublimity  of  philosophy  or  upon  the  subtility  of 
any  discipline  flourishing  within  her,  and  gave  satisfaction  to 
the  disputants,  amid  universal  plaudits,  than  which  he  cared  for 
nothing  less.  ” 1 

One  may  read  between  these  awkward  lines  that  all  this 
learning  was  something  to  which  Bruno  had  been  introduced 
at  school.  Another  short"  passage  shows  how  new  and 
strange  this  Latin  culture  seemed,  and  how  he  approached 
it  with  a timorous  seriousness  natural  to  one  who  did  not 
well  understand  what  it  all  meant : 

“The  buffoonery  and  mimic  talk  in  comedies  and  tragedies, 
which  cause  such  laughter  when  recited  by  a number  of  people,  he 
would  always  read  seriously ; he  took  small  count  of  the  matter, 
but  chiefly  of  authority,  in  literary  compositions.”  2 

Nor  did  I worry,  asking  who  will  read  it ; since  I knew  me  for  its  reader,  and  as  its  lover, 
if  it  had  none  other”  ( Praeloq . vi.  26;  Migne  136,  col.  342).  On  Ratherius  see  Ebert, 
Ges.  der  Lit.  iii.  375  sqq. 

1 Vita  Brunonis,  caps.  4,  6. 


2 Vita  Brunonis , cap.  8. 


312 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


Such  an  attitude  would  have  been  impossible  for  an  Italian 
cradled  amid  Latin  or  quasi-Latin  speech  and  reminiscence. 

The  most  curious  if  not  original  literary  phenomenon 
of  the  time  of  Bruno  and  his  great  brother  was  the  nun 
Hrotsvitha  of  Gandersheim,  a Saxon  cloister  supported  by 
the  royal  Saxon  house.  The  Abbess  was  a niece  of  the 
Emperor,  and  it  was  she  who  introduced  Hrotsvitha  to  the 
Latin  Classics,  after  the  completion  of  her  elementary  studies 
under  another  magistra,  likewise  an  inmate  of  the  convent. 
The  account  bears  witness  to  the  taste  for  Latin  reading 
among  this  group  of  noble  Saxon  dames.  Hrotsvitha  soon 
surpassed  the  rest,  at  least  in  productivity,  and  became 
a prolific  authoress.  She  composed  a number  of  sacred 
legendae>  in  leonine  or  rhymed  hexameters.1  One  of  them 
gave  the  legend  of  the  Virgin,  as  drawn  from  the  Apocryphal 
Gospel  of  Matthew.  She  also  wrote  several  Passiones  or 
accounts  of  the  martyrdoms  of  saints,  and  the  story  of  the 
Fall  and  Repentance  of  Theophilus,  the  oldest  poetic 
version  of  a compact  with  the  devil.  Quite  different  in 
topic  was  the  Deeds  of  Otto  I.  (De  gestis  Oddonis  /. 
imperatoris ),  written  between  962  and  967,  likewise  in 
leonine  hexameters.  It  told  the  fortunes  of  the  Saxon 
house  as  well  as  the  career  of  its  greatest  member. 

Possibly  more  interesting  were  six  moral  dramas  written 
in  formal  imitation  of  the  Comedies  of  Terence.  As  an 
antidote  to  the  poison  of  the  latter,  they  were  to  celebrate 
the  virtue  of  holy  virgins  in  this  same  kind  of  composition 
which  had  flaunted  the  adulteries  of  lascivious  women — so 
the  preface  explains.  Again,  Hrotsvitha’s  sources  were 
legenda,  in  which  Christian  chastity,  martyred  though  it  be, 
triumphs  with  no  uncertain  note  of  victory.2  These  pious 
imitations  of  the  impious  Terence  do  not  appear  to  have 
been  imitated  by  other  mediaeval  writers : they  exerted  no 
influence  upon  the  later  development  of  the  Mystery  Play. 
They  remain  as  evidence  of  the  writer’s  courage,  and  of  the 
studies  of  certain  denizens  of  the  cloister  at  Gandersheim. 

Besides  this  convent  for  high-born  women,  and  such 


1 Cf.  post,  Chapter  XXXIII.  hi. 

2 Enough  will  be  found  regarding  Hrotsvitha  and  her  works  in  Ebert,  Allgem. 
Gss.  der  Lit.  iii.  285-329. 


chap,  xiii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  GERMANY  313 


monasteries  as  Fulda  and  St.  Gall,  an  interesting  centre  of 
introduced  learning  was  Hildesheim,  fortunate  in  its  bishops, 
who  made  it  an  oasis  of  culture  in  the  north.  Otwin,  bishop 
in  954,  supplied  its  school  with  books  from  Italy.  Some 
years  after  him  came  that  great  hearty  man,  Bernward,  of 
princely  birth,  who  began  his  clerical  career  at  an  early  age, 
and  was  made  bishop  in  992.  For  thirty  years  he  ruled  his 
see  with  admirable  piety,  energy,  and  judgment ; qualities 
which  he  likewise  showed  in  affairs  of  State.  He  was  a 
diligent  student  of  Latin  letters,  one  “who  conned  not  only 
the  books  in  the  monastery,  but  others  in  divers  places, 
from  which  he  formed  a goodly  library  of  codices  of  the 
divines  and  also  the  philosophers.” 1 His  was  a master’s 
faculty  and  a master-hand,  itself  skilfully  fashioning;  for 
not  only  did  he  build  the  beautiful  cloister  church  of  St. 
Michael  at  Hildesheim,  and  cause  it  to  be  sumptuously 
adorned,  but  he  himself  carved  and  painted,  and  set  gems. 
Some  of  the  excellent  works  of  his  hand  remain  to-day. 
His  biographer  tells  of  that  munificence  and  untiring  zeal 
which  rendered  Hildesheim  beautiful,  as  one  still  may  see. 
Yet,  throughout,  Bernward  appears  as  consciously  studying 
and  gathering  and  bringing  to  his  beloved  church  an  art 
from  afar  and  a learning  which  was  not  of  his  own  people. 
The  bronze  work  on  the  Bernward  column  in  Hildesheim  is 
thought  to  suggest  an  influence  of  Trajan’s  column,  while 
the  doors  of  Bernward ’s  church  unquestionably  follow  those 
of  St.  Sabina  on  the  Aventine.  This  shows  how  Bernward 
noticed  and  learned  and  copied  during  his  stay  at  Rome 
in  the  year  1001,  when  Otto  III.  was  imperator  and  Gerbert 
was  pope. 

Bernward’s  successor,  Godehard,  continued  the  good 
work.  One  of  his  letters  closes  with  a quick  appeal  for 
books:  “Mittite  nobis  librum  Horatii  et  epistolas  Tullii.”  2 
Belonging  to  the  same  generation  was  Froumundus  (fl.  cir. 
1040),  a monk  of  Tegernsee,  where  Godehard  had  been 
abbot  before  becoming  bishop  of  Hildesheim.  He  was  a 
sturdy  German  lover  of  the  classics — very  German.  At  one 

1 Vila  Bernwardi,  6 (Migne  140,  col.  387),  by  Thangmar,  who  was  Bernward’s 
teacher  and  outlived  him  to  write  his  Life. 

2 Migne  141,  col.  1229. 


3i4 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


time  he  writes  for  a copy  of  Horace,  apparently  to  complete 
his  own,  and  at  another  for  a copy  of  Statius ; other  letters 
refer  to  Juvenal  and  Persius.1  His  ardour  for  study  is  as 
apparent  as  the  fact  that  he  is  learning  a literature  to  which 
he  was  not  born.  His  turgid  hexameters  sweat  with  effort 
to  master  the  foreign  language  and  metre.  People  would 
have  made  a priest  of  him  ; not  he  : 

“Cogere  me  certant,  fatear,  quod  sim  sapiens  vir,” 

and  a good  grin  seems  to  escape  him : 

“Discere  decrevi  libros,  aliosque  docere: 

from  such  work  no  difficulty  shall  repel  me ; be  it  my  reward  to  be 
co-operator  ( synergus ) with  what  almighty  God  grants  to  flourish 
in  this  time  of  Christ,  or  in  the  time  of  yore.”  2 

The  spirit  is  grand,  the  literary  result  awful.  With 
diligence,  the  studious  elite  of  Germany  applied  themselves 
to  Latin  letters.  And  in  the  course  of  time  tremendous 
scholars  were  to  rise  among  them.  But  the  Latin  culture 
remained  a thing  of  study;  its  foreign  tongue  was  never  as 
their  own;  and  in  the  eleventh  century,  at  least,  they  used 
it  with  a painful  effort  that  is  apparent  in  their  writings 
and  the  Germanisms  abounding  in  them.  There  may  come 
one  like  Lambert  of  Hersfeld,  the  famous  annalist  of  the 
Hildebrandine  epoch,  who  with  exceptional  gifts  gains  a 
good  mastery  of  Latin,  and  writes  with  a conscious  approach 
to  quasi-classical  correctness.  The  place  of  his  birth  and  the 
sources  of  his  education  are  unknown.  He  was  thirty  years 
old,  and  doubtless  had  obtained  his  excellent  training  in 
Latin,  when  he  took  the  cowl  in  the  cloister  of  Hersfeld 
in  1058.  But  the  next  year  he  made  a pilgrimage  to 
Jerusalem,  and  afterwards  other  journeys.  He  wrote  his 
Annals 3 in  his  later  years,  laying  down  his  pen  in  1077, 
when  he  had  brought  the  Emperor  to  Canossa.  His  was  a 
practised  hand,  and  his  style  the  evident  result  of  much 

1 See  Froumundus,  Ep.  9,  11,  13  (Migne  141,  col.  1288  sqq.).  A number  of 
his  poems  are  published  by  F.  Seiler,  Zeitschrift  fur  deutsche  Philologie,  Bd.  14, 
pp.  406-442. 

2 Migne  141,  col.  1292.  I am  not  sure  that  I have  caught  Froumund’s  meaning. 

3 Mon.  Ger.  Scriptores,  v.  134  sqq.  (Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  146,  col.  1027  sqq.). 


chap,  xiii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  GERMANY  315 


study  of  the  classics.  His  work  remains  the  best  piece  of 
Latin  from  an  eleventh-century  German. 

Among  German  scholars  of  the  period,  one  can  find  no 
more  charming  creature  than  Hermann  Contractus,  the 
lame  or  paralytic.  His  father,  a Suabian  count,  brought 
the  little  cripple  to  the  convent  of  Richenau.  It  was  in 
the  year  1020.  Hermann  was  seven  years  old.  There  he 
studied  and  taught,  and  loved  his  fellows,  till  his  death 
thirty-four  years  later.  His  mind  was  as  strong  as  his  body 
was  weak.  He  could  not  rise  from  the  movable  seat  on 
which  his  attendant  placed  him,  and  could  scarcely  sit  up. 
He  enunciated  with  difficulty ; his  words  were  scarcely 
intelligible.  But  his  learning  was  encyclopaedic,  his 
sympathies  were  broad:  “Homo  revera  sine  querela  nihil 
humani  a se  alienum  putavit,”  says  a loving  pupil  who 
sketched  his  life.  Evil  was  foreign  to  his  nature. 
Affectionate,  cheerful,  happy,  his  sweet  and  engaging 
personality  drew  all  men’s  love,  while  his  learning  attracted 
pupils  from  afar. 

“At  length,  after  he  had  been  labouring  for  ten  days  in  a 
grievous  pleurisy,  God’s  mercy  saw  fit  to  free  his  holy  soul 
from  prison.  I who  was  his  familiar  above  the  rest,”  says  the 
biographer,  “came  to  his  couch  at  dawn  of  day,  and  asked  him 
whether  he  was  not  feeling  a little  better.  ‘Do  not  ask  me,’  he 
replied,  ‘but  rather  listen  to  what  I have  to  tell  you.  I shall 
die  very  soon  and  shall  not  recover : so  to  thee  and  all  my  friends 
I commend  my  sinful  soul.  This  whole  night  I have  been  rapt  in 
ecstasy.  With  such  complete  memory  as  we  have  for  the  Lord’s 
Prayer,  I seemed  to  be  reading  over  and  over  Cicero’s  Hortensius , 
and  likewise  to  be  scanning  the  substance  and  very  written  pages 
of  what  I intended  to  write  Concerning  the  Vices — just  as  if  I 
had  it  already  written.  I am  so  stirred  and  lifted  by  this  reading, 
that  the  earth  and  all  pertaining  to  it  and  this  mortal  life  are 
despicable  and  tedious;  while  the  future  everlasting  world  and 
the  eternal  life  have  become  such  an  unspeakable  desire  and  joy, 
that  all  these  transitory  circumstances  are  inane — nothing  at  all. 
It  wearies  me  to  live.’  ” 1 

Was  not  this  a scholar’s  vision?  The  German  dwarf 
cares  for  the  Hortensius  even  as  Augustine,  from  whose 
Confessions  doubtless  came  the  recommendation  of  this 

1 Vita  Hermanni  (Migne  143,  col.  29). 


3l6 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


classic.  The  barbarous  Latin  of  the  Vita  is  so  uncouth  and 
unformed  as  to  convey  no  certain  grammatical  meaning. 
One  can  only  sense  it.  The  biographer  cannot  write  Latin 
correctly,  nor  write  it  glibly  and  ungrammatically,  like  a 
man  born  to  a Latinesque  speech.  Hermann’s  own  Latin 
is  but  little  better.  It  approaches  neither  fluency  nor  style. 
But  the  scholar  ardour  was  his,  and  his  works  remain — a 
long  chronicle,  a treatise  on  the  Astrolabe,  and  one  on 
Music;  also,  perhaps,  a poem  in  leonine  elegiacs,  “The 
Dispute  of  the  Sheep  and  the  Flax,”  which  goes  on  for  several 
hundred  lines  till  one  comes  to  a welcome  caetera  desunt.1 

Thus,  with  a heavy-footed  Teutonic  diligence,  the 
Germans  studied  the  Trivium  and  Quadrivium.  They 
sweated  at  Latin  grammar,  reading  also  the  literature  or  the 
stock  passages.  Their  ignorance  of  natural  science  was  no 
denser  than  that  of  peoples  west  of  the  Rhine  or  south  of 
the  Alps.  Many  of  them  went  to  learn  at  Chartres  or 
Paris.  Within  the  mapped-out  scheme  of  knowledge,  there 
was  too  much  for  them  to  master  to  admit  of  their  devising 
new  provinces  of  study.  They  could  not  but  continue  for 
many  decades  translators  of  the  foreign  matter  into  their 
German  tongue  or  German  selves.  In  the  twelfth  and 
thirteenth  centuries  they  will  be  translators  of  the  French 
and  Provencal  literatures. 

Even  before  the  eleventh  century,  Germans  were  at  work 
at  Logic — one  recalls  Gerbert’s  opponent  Otric ; 2 and  some 
of  them  were  engaged  with  dialectic  and  philosophy. 
William,  Abbot  of  Hirschau,  crudely  anticipated  Anselm  in 
attempting  a syllogistic  proof  of  God’s  existence.3  He  died 
in  1091,  and  once  had  been  a monk  in  the  convent  of  St. 
Emmeram  at  Ratisbon  in  Bavaria,  where  he  may  have 
known  a certain  monk  named  Othloh,  who  has  left  a unique 
disclosure  of  himself.  One  is  sufficiently  informed  as  to 
what  the  Germans  and  other  people  studied  in  the  eleventh 
century ; but  this  man  has  revealed  the  spiritual  conflict 
out  of  which  he  hardly  brought  his  soul’s  peace. 


1 The  writings  of  Hermannus  Contractus  are  in  Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  143.  The 
poem  is  reprinted  from  Du  Merit’s  Poesies  populaires;  a more  complete  text  is  in  Bd. 
XI.  of  the  Zeitschrift  fur  deutsches  AUertum. 

2 Ante,  p.  291  sqq. 


3 Prantl,  Ges.  Logik,  ii.  83. 


chap,  xiii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  GERMANY  317 


II 

Nothing  is  so  fascinating  in  the  life  of  a holy  man  as 
the  struggle  and  crisis  through  which  his  convictions  are 
established  and  his  peace  attained.  How  diverse  has  been 
this  strife — with  Buddha,  with  Augustine,  with  Luther,  or 
Ignatius  Loyola.  Its  heroes  fall  into  two  companies  : in 

one  of  them  the  man  attains  through  his  own  thought  and 
resolution ; in  the  other  he  casts  himself  on  God,  and  it  may 
be  that  devils  and  angels  carry  on  the  fight,  of  which  his 
soul  is  the  battle-round  and  prize.  Nevertheless,  the  man 
himself  holds  the  scales  of  victory;  the  choice  is  his,  and  it 
is  he  who  at  last  goes  over  to  the  devil  or  accepts  the  grace 
of  God.  This  conflict,  in  which  God  is  felt  to  aid,  is  still  for 
men;  only  its  forms  and  setting  change.  Therefore  the 
struggle  and  the  tears,  through  which  souls  have  won 
their  wisdom  and  their  peace,  never  cease  to  move  us. 
Othloh,  like  many  another  mediaeval  scholar,  was  disturbed 
over  the  sinful  pleasure  derived  from  Tully  and  Virgil,  Naso 
and  Lucan.  But  his  soul’s  chief  turmoil  came  from  the 
doubts  that  sprang  from  his  human  sympathies  and  from 
moral  grounds — can  the  Bible  be  true  and  God  omnipotent 
when  sin  and  misery  abound?  The  struggle  through  which 
he  became  assured  was  the  supreme  experience  of  his  life : 
it  fixed  his  thoughts ; his  writings  were  its  fruit ; they  re- 
flect the  struggle  and  the  struggler,  and  present  a psycho- 
logical tableau  of  a mediaeval  German  soul. 

He  was  born  in  the  bishopric  of  Freising  in  Bavaria 
not  long  after  the  year  1000,  and  spent  his  youth  in  the 
monastic  schools  of  Tegernsee  and  Hersfeld.  His  scholar- 
ship was  made  evident  to  men  about  him  through  his  skill 
in  copying  texts  in  a beautiful  script,  ornamented  with 
illuminations.  In  the  year  1032  he  took  the  monk’s  vows 
in  the  monastery  of  St.  Emmeram  at  Ratisbon,  which  had 
been  founded  long  before  in  honour  of  this  sainted  Frankish 
missionary  bishop,  who  had  met  a martyr’s  death  in  Bavaria 
in  the  late  Merovingian  period.  The  annals  of  the  monastery 
are  extant.  When  the  Ottos  were  emperors,  grammatical 
and  theological  studies  flourished  there,  especially  under  a 
certain  capable  Wolfgang,  who  died  as  Bishop  of  Ratisbon  in 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


318 

994,  and  whose  life  Othloh  wrote.  The  latter,  on  becoming 
a monk,  received  charge  of  the  monastery  school,  which  he 
continued  to  direct  for  thirty  years.1  Then  he  left,  because 
some  of  the  young  monks  had  turned  the  Abbot  against  him ; 
but  after  some  years  spent  mainly  at  the  monastery  of  Fulda, 
he  returned  to  St.  Emmeram’s  in  1063,  where  he  died  an 
old  man  ten  or  fifteen  years  later.  From  his  youth  he  had 
been  subject  to  illness,  even  to  fits  of  swooning,  and,  writing 
in  the  evening  of  his  days,  he  speaks  of  his  many  bodily 
infirmities. 

As  Othloh  looked  back  over  his  life,  his  soul’s  crisis 
seemed  to  have  been  reached  soon  after  he  was  made  a 
monk.  The  wisdom  brought  through  it  came  as  the 
answer  to  those  questionings  which  made  up  the  diabolic 
side  of  that  great  experience.  Othloh  describes  it  in  his 
Book  concerning  the  Temptations  of  a certain  Monk: 

“There  was  a sinful  clerk,  who,  having  often  been  corrected  by 
the  Lord,  at  last  turned  to  the  monastic  life.  In  the  monastery 
where  he  was  made  a monk  he  found  many  sorts  of  men,  some  of 
whom  were  given  over  to  the  reading  of  secular  works,  while  some 
read  Holy  Scripture.  He  resolved  to  imitate  the  latter.  The 
more  earnest  he  was  in  this,  the  more  was  he  molested  by  tempta- 
tions of  the  devil;  but  committing  himself  to  the  grace  of  God, 
he  persevered;  and  when,  after  a long  while,  he  was  delivered, 
and  thought  over  what  he  had  suffered,  it  seemed  that  others 
might  be  edified  by  his  temptations,  as  well  as  by  the  passages 
of  Holy  Scripture  which  had  come  to  him  through  divine  inspira- 
tion. So  he  began  to  write  as  follows  : I wish  to  tell  the  delusions 
of  Satan  which  I endured  sleeping  and  waking.  His  deceits  first 
confounded  me  with  doubt  as  to  whether  I was  not  rash  in  taking 
the  vow  perilous  of  the  monastic  life,  without  consulting  parents 
or  friends,  when  Scripture  bids  us  ‘do  all  things  with  counsel.’ 
Diabolic  illusion,  as  if  sympathizing  and  counselling  with  me, 
brought  these  and  like  thoughts.  When,  the  grace  of  God  re- 
sisting him,  the  Tempter  failed  to  have  his  way  with  me  here, 
he  tried  to  make  me  despair  because  of  my  many  sins.  ‘Do  you 
think,’  said  he,  ‘that  such  a wretch  can  expect  mercy  from  God 
the  Judge,  when  it  is  written,  Scarcely  shall  a righteous  man  be 
saved?’  So  he  overwhelmed  me,  till  I could  do  nothing  but 
weep,  and  tears  were  my  bread  day  and  night.  I protest,  from 

1 Cf.  Entires,  “Othloh’s  von  St.  Emmeram  Verhaltnis  zu  den  freien  Kunsten,” 
Philos.  Jahrhuch,  1904. 


chap,  xiii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  GERMANY  319 


my  innermost  heart,  that  save  through  the  grace  of  God  alone, 
no  one  can  overcome  such  delusions. 

“When  the  Weaver  of  wiles  failed  to  cause  me  utterly  to 
despair,  he  tried  with  other  arguments  of  guile  to  lead  me  to 
blaspheme  the  divine  justice,  suggesting  thoughts,  as  if  condoling 
with  my  misery : ‘ O most  unhappy  youth,  whose  grief  no  man 
deigns  to  consider — but  men  are  not  to  blame,  for  they  do  not 
know  your  trouble.  God  alone  knows,  and  since  He  can  do  all 
things,  why  does  He  not  aid  you  in  tribulation,  when  for  love  of 
Him  you  have  surrendered  the  world  and  now  endure  this  agony  ? 
Have  done  with  impossible  prayers  and  foolish  grief.  The 
injustice  of  that  Potentate  will  not  permit  all  to  perish.’  These 
delusions  were  connected  with  what  I now  wish  to  mention: 
Often  I was  awakened  by  some  imaginary  signal,  and  would 
hasten  to  the  oratory  before  the  time  of  morning  prayer ; also, 
and  for  a number  of  years,  though  I slept  at  night  as  a man 
sound  in  body,  when  the  hour  came  to  rise,  my  limbs  were  numb, 
and  only  with  uncertain  trembling  step  could  I reach  the  Church. 

“One  delusion  and  temptation  must  be  spoken  of,  which  I 
hardly  know  how  to  describe,  as  I never  read  or  heard  of  anything 
like  it.  By  the  stress  of  my  many  temptations  I was  driven — 
though  by  God’s  grace  I was  never  utterly  torn  from  faith  and 
hope  of  heavenly  aid — to  doubt  as  to  Holy  Scripture  and  the 
essence  of  God  himself.  In  the  struggle  with  the  other  tempta- 
tions there  was  some  respite,  and  a refuge  of  hope  remained. 
In  this  I knew  no  alleviation,  and  when  formerly  I had  been 
strengthened  by  the  sacred  book  and  had  fought  against  the  darts 
of  death  with  the  arms  of  faith  and  hope,  now,  shut  round  with 
doubt  and  mental  blindness,  I doubted  whether  there  was  truth 
in  Holy  Scripture  and  whether  God  was  omnipotent.  This  broke 
over  me  with  such  violence  as  to  leave  me  neither  strength  of 
body  nor  strength  of  mind,  and  I could  not  see  or  hear.  Then 
sometimes  it  was  as  if  a voice  was  whispering  close  to  my  ear: 
‘Why  such  vain  labourings?  Can  you  not,  most  foolish  of 
mortals,  prove  by  your  own  experience  that  the  testimony  of 
Scripture  is  without  sense  or  reason?  Do  you  not  see  that  what 
the  divine  book  says  is  the  reverse  of  what  the  lives  and  habits 
of  mankind  approve  ? Those  many  thousands  who  neither 
know  nor  care  to  know  its  doctrine,  do  you  think  they  err?’ 
Troubled,  I would  urge,  as  if  against  some  one  questioning  and 
objecting : ‘ How  then  is  there  such  agreement  among  all  the 
divinely  inspired  writings  when  they  speak  of  God  the  Founder 
and  of  obedience  to  His  commands?’  Then  words  of  this  kind 
would  be  suggested  in  reply:  ‘Fool,  the  Scriptures  on  which 


320 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


you  rely  for  knowledge  of  God  and  religion  speak  double  words; 
for  the  men  who  wrote  them  lived  as  men  live  now.  You  know 
how  all  men  speak  well  and  piously,  and  act  otherwise,  as  advan- 
tage or  frailty  prompts.  From  which  you  may  learn  how  the 
authors  of  the  ancient  writings  wrote  good  and  religious  sayings, 
and  did  not  live  accordingly.  Understand  then,  that  all  the 
books  of  the  divine  law  were  so  written  that  they  have  an  outer 
surface  of  piety  and  virtue,  but  quite  another  inner  meaning. 
All  of  which  is  proved  by  Paul’s  saying,  The  letter  killeth;  the 
spirit,  that  is  the  meaning,  maketh  to  live.  So  you  see  how 
perilous  it  is  to  follow  the  precepts  of  these  books.  Likewise 
should  one  think  concerning  the  essence  of  God.  And  besides 
if  there  existed  any  person  or  power  of  an  omnipotent  God  there 
would  not  be  this  apparent  confusion  in  everything, — nor  would 
you  yourself  have  had  all  these  doubts  which  trouble  you.’  ” 

The  last  diabolically  insidious  suggestion  was  just  the 
one  to  bring  despair  to  the  unaided  reason  seeking  faith. 
Othloh’s  soul  was  passing  through  the  depths ; but  the  path 
now  ascends,  and  rapidly  : 

“I  was  assaulted  with  an  incredible  number  of  these  delusions, 
and  so  strange  and  unheard  of  were  they  that  I feared  to  speak  of 
them  to  any  of  the  brothers.  At  last  I threw  myself  upon  the 
ground  groaning  in  bitterness,  and,  collecting  the  forces  of  my 
mind,  I cried  with  my  lips  and  from  my  heart:  ‘O  if  thou  art 

some  one,  Almighty,  and  if  thou  art  everywhere,  as  I have  read 
so  often  in  so  many  books,  now,  I pray,  show  me  whom  thou  art 
and  what  thou  canst  do,  delivering  me  quickly  from  these  perils ; 
I can  bear  this  strife  no  more.’  I did  not  have  to  wait ; the  grace 
of  God  scattered  the  whole  cloud  of  doubt,  and  such  a light  of 
knowledge  poured  into  my  heart  that  I have  never  since  had  to 
endure  the  darkness  of  deadly  doubt.  I began  to  understand 
what  I had  scarcely  perceived  before.  Then  the  grace  of  know- 
ledge was  so  increased  that  I could  no  longer  hide  it.  I was  urged 
by  ineffable  impulse  to  undertake  some  work  of  gratitude  for  the 
glory  of  God,  and  it  seemed  that  this  new  ardour  should  be  de- 
voted to  composition.  So  I wrote  what  I have  written  concerning 
those  diabolic  delusions  which  sprang  from  my  sins,  and  then 
it  seemed  reasonable  to  tell  of  the  divine  inspiration  by  which 
my  mind  was  enabled  to  repel  them ; so  that  he  who  reads  these 
delusions  may  at  the  same  time  know  the  workings  of  the  divine 
aid,  and  not  ascribe  to  me  a victory  which  was  never  mine,  or, 
thinking  that  aid  was  lacking  in  my  temptation,  fear  lest  it  fail 


chap,  xiii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY : GERMANY  321 


in  his.  I remember  how  often,  especially  on  rising  in  the  mornings, 
it  was  as  if  there  was  some  one  rising  with  me  and  walking  with 
me,  who  mutely  warned,  or  gently  persuaded  me  to  amend  faults 
which  it  may  be  only  the  day  before  I was  ignorantly  committing 
and  deeming  of  no  consequence. 

“When  surrounded  by  such  inspirations  I would  enter  the 
Church  and  bow  down  in  prayer — God  knows  that  I do  not  lie — 
it  seemed  as  if  some  one  besought  me  with  like  earnestness  of 
prayer,  saying:  ‘As  that  has  been  granted  which  you  asked  of 
me,  it  will  be  precious  to  me  if  you  will  obey  my  entreaties.  Do 
you  not  continue  in  those  vices  which  I have  often  begged  you 
to  abandon?  are  you  not  proud  and  carnal,  neglectful  of  God’s 
service,  hating  whom  you  should  not  hate,  although  the  Scripture 
says,  Every  one  who  hates  his  brother  is  a murderer?  Where 
now  is  the  patience  and  constancy  and  that  perfection  which  you 
promised  God,  if  He  would  deliver  you  from  perils  and  make  you 
a monk?  God  has  done  as  you  asked,  why  do  you  delay  to  pay 
your  vow?  You  have  asked  Him  to  set  you  in  a place  where 
you  would  have  a store  of  books.  Lo,  you  have  been  heard; 
you  have  books — from  which  you  may  learn  of  life  eternal. 
Why  do  you  dissipate  your  mind  in  vanities  and  do  not  hasten 
to  take  the  desired  gift?  You  have  also  asked  to  be  tried,  and 
tried  you  have  been  in  temptation,  and  delivered.  Yet  you  are 
still  a man  unfit  for  peace  or  war,  since  when  the  battle  is  far  off 
you  are  ready  for  it,  and  when  it  approaches  you  flee.  Which 
of  the  holy  fathers  that  you  have  read  of  in  the  Old  or  New 
Testament  was  so  dear  to  me  that  I did  not  seek  to  try  him  in  the 
furnace  of  tribulation?  Blessed  are  those  who  suffer  persecution 
for  righteousness’  sake.  Steep  and  narrow  is  the  way;  no  one  is 
crowned  who  has  not  striven  lawfully.  When  you  have  read 
these,  and  many  more  passages  of  Scripture,  why  if  you  desire  a 
crown  of  life  eternal,  do  you  wish  to  suffer  no  tribulation  for  your 
sins?”’ 

Then  the  spirit  of  God,  with  many  admonishings,  shows 
Othloh  how  easy  had  been  his  lot  and  how  needful  to  him 
were  his  temptations,  even  the  very  carnal  temptations  of  the 
flesh,  which  Othloh  suffered  in  common  with  all  monks. 
And  he  is  bid  to  consider  their  reason  and  order : 

“First  you  were  tried  with  lighter  trials,  that  gradually  you 
might  gain  strength  for  the  weightier ; as  you  progressed  you 
ascribed  to  your  own  strength  what  was  wrought  by  my  grace. 
Wherefore  I subjected  you  to  the  final  temptation,  from  which 
VOL.  I Y 


322 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


you  will  emerge  the  more  certain  of  my  grace  the  less  you  trust 
in  your  merits.,, 

The  “warring  opposites ” of  Othloh’s  spiritual  struggle 
were,  on  the  one  side,  evil  thoughts  and  delusions  from  the 
devil,  and,  on  the  other,  the  strength  and  enlightenment 
imparted  by  the  grace  of  God.  The  nearer  the  crisis  comes, 
the  clearer  are  the  devil’s  whisperings  and  the  warnings  of 
the  instructing  voice.  Othloh’s  part  in  it  was  his  choice  and 
acceptance  of  the  divine  counsellor.  This  conflict  never 
faded  from  his  mind.  He  has  much  to  say  of  the  visions  1 
in  which  parts  of  his  enlightenment  had  come.  Once,  read- 
ing Lucan  in  the  monastery,  he  swooned,  and  in  his  swoon 
was  beaten  with  many  stripes  by  a man  of  terrible  and 
threatening  countenance.  By  this  he  was  led  to  abandon 
profane  reading  and  other  worldly  vanities.  These  visionary 
floggings  left  him  feeble  and  ill  in  body.  They  were  the 
approaches  to  his  great  spiritual  conflict.  His  “fourth 
vision”  is  in  and  of  the  crisis.  This  monk,  immersed  in 
spiritual  struggles,  had  also  his  opinions  regarding  the 
government  of  the  monastery,  and  for  a time  refused  obedience 
to  the  abbot’s  irregular  rulings,  and  spoke  harshly  of  him  : 

“For  this  I did  penance  before  the  abbot  but  not  before  God, 
against  whom  I had  greatly  sinned;  and  after  a few  days  I fell 
sick.  This  sickness  was  from  God,  since  I have  always  begged  of 
His  mercy,  that  for  any  sin  committed  I might  suffer  sickness  or 
tribulation,  and  so  it  has  come  to  me.  On  this  occasion,  when 
weakness  had  for  some  days  kept  me  in  the  infirmary,  one  evening 
as  it  was  growing  dark  I thought  I should  feel  better  if  I rose 
and  sat  by  my  cot.  Immediately  the  house  appeared  to  be  filled 
with  flame  and  smoke.  Horror-stricken,  my  wonted  trust  in 
God  all  scattered,  I started,  tottering,  towards  the  cot  of  the  lay 
brother  in  charge,  but,  ashamed,  I turned  back  and  went  to  the  cot 
of  a brother  who  was  sick ; he  was  asleep.  Then  I sank  exhausted 
on  my  cot,  thinking  how  to  escape  the  horror  of  that  vision  of 
smoke.  I had  no  doubt  that  the  smoke  was  the  work  of  evil 
spirits,  who,  from  its  midst,  would  try  to  torment  me.  As  I 
gradually  saw  that  it  was  not  physical,  but  of  the  spirit,  and 
that  there  was  no  one  to  help  me,  as  all  were  asleep,  I began  to 
sing  certain  psalms,  and,  singing,  went  out  and  entered  the  nearest 
church,  of  St.  Gallus,  and  fell  down  before  the  altar.  At  once, 

1 Liber  visionum . 


chap,  xiii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  GERMANY  323 


for  my  sins,  strength  of  mind  and  body  left  me,  and  I perceived 
that  my  lips  were  held  together  by  evil  spirits,  so  that  I could 
not  move  them,  to  sing  a psalm.  I tried  till  I was  weary  to  open 
them  with  my  hands. 

“Leaving  that  church,  crawling  rather  than  walking,  I gained 
the  great  church  of  St.  Emmeram,  where  I hoped  for  some  allevia- 
tion of  my  agony.  But  it  was  as  before ; I could  barely  utter  a 
few  words  of  prayer.  So  I painfully  made  my  way  back  to  my 
bed,  hoping,  from  sheer  weariness,  to  get  some  sleep.  But  none 
came,  and,  turn  as  I would,  still  I saw  the  vision  of  smoke. 
Suddenly — was  I asleep  or  awake  ? — I seemed  to  be  in  a field  well 
known  to  me,  surrounded  by  a crowd  of  demons  mocking  me  with 
shrieks  of  laughter.  The  louder  they  laughed,  the  sadder  I was, 
seeing  them  gathered  to  destroy  me.  When  they  saw  that  I 
would  not  laugh,  they  became  enraged,  crying,  ‘ So ! you  won’t 
laugh  and  be  merry  with  us ! Since  you  choose  melancholy 
you  shall  have  enough.’  Then  flying  about  me,  with  blows  from 
all  sides,  they  whirled  me  round  and  round  with  them  over  vast 
spaces  of  earth,  till  I thought  to  die.  Suffering  unspeakably,  I 
was  at  length  set  down  on  the  top  of  a peak  which  scarcely  held 
me ; no  eye  could  fathom  its  abyss.  Vainly  I looked  for  a descent, 
and  the  demons  kept  flying  about  me,  saying:  ‘Where  now  is 
your  hope  in  God ! And  where  is  that  God  of  yours ! Don’t 
you  know  that  neither  God  is,  as  men  say,  nor  is  there  any  power 
in  Him  which  can  prevail  against  us?  One  proof  of  this  is  that 
you  have  no  help,  and  there  is  no  one  who  can  deliver  you  from 
our  hands.  Choose  now;  for  unless  you  join  with  us  you  shall 
be  cast  into  the  abyss.’  In  this  strait,  scarcely  consenting  or 
resisting,  I faintly  remembered  that  I had  once  believed  and  read 
that  God  was  everywhere,  and  so  I looked  around  to  see  whether 
He  would  not  send  some  aid.  Now  when  the  demons  kept  in- 
sisting that  I should  choose,  and  when  I was  well-nigh  put  to 
it  to  promise  what  they  wished,  a man  suddenly  appeared,  and, 
standing  by  me,  said:  ‘Do  not  do  it;  all  that  these  cheats  say  is 
false.  Abide  firm  in  that  faith  which  you  had  in  God.  He  knows 
all  that  you  suffer,  and  permits  it  for  your  good.’  Then  he 
vanished,  and  the  demons  returned,  flying  about  me,  and  saying : 
‘Miserable  man,  would  you  trust  one  who  came  to  deceive  you? 
Why,  he  dared  not  wait  till  we  came ! Come  now,  yield  yourself 
to  our  power.’ 

“Uttering  these  words  with  fury,  they  snatched  me  up,  and 
whirled  me,  sorely  beaten,  across  plains  and  deserts,  over  heights 
and  precipices,  and  set  me  on  a yet  more  dreadful  peak,  hurling  at 
me  abuse  and  threats,  to  make  me  do  their  will.  And,  as  before, 


324 


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BOOK  II 


I was  near  succumbing,  and  was  looking  around  for  some  aid  from 
God,  when  that  same  man  again  stood  near,  and  heartened  me. 
‘Do  not  yield;  let  your  heart  be  comforted  against  its  besiegers.’ 
And  I replied:  ‘Lord,  I can  no  longer  bear  these  perils.  Stay 
with  me,  and  aid,  lest  when  you  go  away  they  torment  me  still 
more  grievously.’  To  which  he  said:  ‘Their  threats  cannot 
prevail  so  long  as  you  persevere  in  faith  and  hope  in  the 
Lord.  Be  comforted;  the  sharper  the  strife,  the  quicker  will  it 
end.  If  with  constancy  you  wage  the  Lord’s  battles,  you  shall 
have  eternal  rewards  in  the  future,  and  in  this  world  you  shall  be 
famous.’ 

“Then  he  vanished  the  second  time,  and  the  demons,  who 
dared  do  nothing  in  his  presence,  raged  and  mocked  more  savagely, 
and  kept  me  in  anguish,  until,  the  divine  grace  effecting  it,  the 
convent  bell  rang  for  early  prayer.  I heard  it  as  I lay  in  bed,  and 
gradually  gaining  my  senses,  I was  conscious  that  I was  living, 
and  I no  longer  saw  the  vision  of  smoke.  With  gratitude  I 
remembered  what  the  man  in  my  vision  told  me  that  my  trial 
would  soon  be  over.  After  this,  though  for  many  days  I lay  sick 
in  body  and  soul,  my  spiritual  temptations  began  to  lessen ; and 
I have  learned  that  without  the  Grace  of  God  I am,  and  always 
shall  be,  a thing  of  naught.” 

The  struggle  through  which  faith  and  peace  came  to 
Othloh  became  the  fountain-head  of  his  wisdom ; it  fixed  the 
point  of  view  from  which  he  judged  life,  and  set  the  cate- 
gories in  which  he  ordered  his  knowledge ; it  directed  his 
thoughts  and  imparted  purpose  and  unity  to  his  writings. 
His  gratitude  to  God  incited  him  to  write  in  order  that 
others  might  share  in  the  light  and  wisdom  which  God’s 
grace  had  granted  him ; and  his  writings  chiefly  enlarge 
upon  those  questions  which  the  victory  in  his  spiritual 
conflict  had  solved.  I will  refrain  from  drawing  further 
from  them,  although  they  seem  to  me  the  most  interesting 
works  of  a pious  and  doctrinal  nature  emanating  from  any 
German  of  this  still  crude  and  inchoate  intellectual  period.1 

Ill 

From  the  point  of  view  of  the  development  of  mediaeval 
intellectual  interests  in  the  eleventh  century,  England  has 
little  that  is  distinctive  to  offer.  The  firm  rule  of  Canute 

1 Othloh’s  works  are  all  in  tome  146  of  Migne’s  Patrologia  Latina. 


chaf.  xiii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY:  ENGLAND  325 


(1016-1035)  brought  some  reinstatement  of  order,  after  the 
times  of  struggle  between  Dane  and  Saxon.  But  his  son, 
Hardicanute,  was  a savage.  The  reign  of  Edward  the  Con- 
fessor (1042-1066)  followed.  It  wears  a halo  because  it  was 
the  end  of  the  old  order,  which  henceforth  was  to  be  a 
memory.  Then  came  the  revolution  of  the  Norman  Conquest. 
Letters  did  not  thrive  amid  these  storms.  At  the  beginning 
of  the  period,  Dunstan  is  the  sole  name  of  note,  as  one  who 
fostered  letters  in  the  monasteries  where  his  energies  were 
bringing  discipline.  English  piety  and  learning  looked 
then,  as  it  had  looked  before  and  was  for  centuries  to  look, 
to  the  Continent.  And  Dunstan  promoted  letters  by  calling 
to  his  assistance  Abbo  of  St.  Fleury,  of  whom  something 
has  been  said.1 

In  Dunstan’s  time  Saxon  men  were  still  translating 
Scripture  into  their  tongue — paraphrasing  it  rather,  with  a 
change  of  spirit.  Such  translations  were  needed  in  Anglo- 
Saxon  England,  as  in  Germany.  But  after  the  Conquest 
the  introduction  of  Norman-French  tended  to  lessen  at 
least  the  consciousness  of  such  a need.  That  language,  as 
compared  with  Anglo-Saxon,  came  so  much  nearer  to  Latin 
as  to  reduce  the  chasm  between  the  learned  tongue  and  the 
vernacular.  The  Normans  had  (at  least  in  speech)  been 
Gallicized,  and  yet  had  kept  many  Norse  traits.  England 
likewise  took  on  a Gallic  veneering  as  Norman-French 
became  the  language  of  the  Court  and  the  new  nobility. 
But  the  people  continued  to  speak  English.  The  degree  of 
foreign  influence  upon  their  thought  and  manners  may  be 
gauged  by  the  proportion  of  foreign  idiom  penetrating  the 
English  language ; and  the  fact  that  English  remained 
essentially  and  structurally  English  proves  the  same  for 
England  racially.  In  spite  of  the  introduction  of  foreign 
elements,  people  and  language  endured  and  became  more 
and  more  distinctively  English. 

In  the  island  before  the  Conquest,  the  round  of  studies 
had  been  the  same  as  on  the  Continent;  and  that  event 
brought  no  change.  The  studies  might  improve,  but  would 
have  no  novel  source  to  draw  upon.  And  in  this  period 
of  racial  turmoil  and  revolution,  it  was  unlikely  that  the 

1 Ante,  Chapter  XII.  n. 


326 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


Anglo-Saxon  temperament  would  present  itself  as  clearly  as 
aforetime  in  the  Saxon  poem  of  Beowulf  or  the  personality 
of  the  Saxon  Alfred,  or  in  the  Saxon  Genesis  and  the 
writings  of  Cynewulf.1  In  a word,  the  eleventh  century 
in  England  was  specifically  the  period  when  the  old 
traits  were  becoming  obscure,  and  no  distinct  modifica- 
tions had  been  evolved  in  correspondence  with  the  new 
conditions.  Consequently,  for  presentations  of  the  intel- 
lectual genius  of  the  English  people,  one  has  to  wait  until 
the  next  century,  the  time  of  John  of  Salisbury  and  other 
English  minds.  Even  such  will  be  found  receiving  their 
training  and  their  knowledge  in  France  and  Italy.  England 
was  still  intellectually  as  well  as  politically  under  foreign 
domination. 

In  every  way  it  has  been  borne  in  upon  us  how  radically 
the  conditions  and  faculties  of  men  differed  in  England, 
Germany,  France,  and  Italy  in  the  eleventh  century.  Very 
different  were  their  intellectual  qualities,  and  different  also 
was  the  measure  of  their  attainment  to  a palpable  mediaeval 
character,  which  in  Italy  was  not  that  of  the  ancient  Latins, 
in  France  was  not  that  of  the  Gallic  provincials,  and  in 
England  and  Germany  was  not  altogether  that  of  the 
original  Celtic  and  Teutonic  stocks.  Neither  in  the  eleventh 
century  nor  afterwards  was  there  an  obliteration  of  race 
traits;  yet  the  mediaeval  modification  tended  constantly 
to  evoke  a general  uniformity  of  intellectual  interest  and 
accepted  view. 

There  exists  a certain  ancient  Chronicon  Venetum  written 
by  a Venetian  diplomat  and  man  of  affairs  called  John  the 
Deacon,  who  died  apparently  soon  after  1008.2  He  was 
the  chaplain  of  the  Doge,  Peter  Urseolus,  and  the  doge’s 
ambassador  to  the  emperors  Otto  III.  and  Henry  II.  The 
earlier  parts  of  his  Chronicon  were  taken  from  Paulus 
Diaconus  and  others ; the  later  are  his  own,  and  form  a 
facile  narrative,  which  makes  no  pretence  to  philosophic 
insight  and  has  nothing  to  say  either  of  miracles  or  God’s 

1 Ante,  Chapters  VIII.,  IX. 

1 Printed  in  Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  139,  col.  871  sqq.  and  elsewhere.  For  editions 
see  Wattenbach,  Deutschlands  Geschichtsquellen,  6th  ed.  i.  485. 


ch.  xiii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY : COMPARISONS  327 


Christian  providence.  Its  interests  are  quite  secular.  John 
writes  his  Latin,  glib,  clear,  and  unclassical,  just  as  he  might 
talk  his  Venetian  speech,  his  vulgaris  eloquentia . There 
is  no  effort,  no  struggle  with  the  medium  of  expression, 
but  a pervasive  quality  of  familiarity  with  his  story 
and  with  the  language  he  tells  it  in.  These  characteristics, 
it  is  safe  to  say,  are  not  to  be  found,  to  a like  degree, 
in  the  work  of  any  contemporary  writer  north  of  the 
Alps. 

The  man  and  his  story,  in  fine,  however  mediocre  they 
may  be,  have  arrived : they  are  not  struggling  or  apparently 
tending  anywhither.  The  writing  suggests  no  capacity  in 
the  writer  as  yet  unreached,  nor  any  imperfect  blending 
of  disparate  elements  in  his  education.  One  should  not 
generalize  too  broadly  from  the  qualities  exemplified  in 
this  work;  yet  they  indicate  that  the  people  to  which  the 
writer  belonged  were  possessed  of  a certain  entirety  of 
development,  in  which  the  component  elements  of  culture 
and  antecedent  human  growth  and  decadence  were  blended 
in  accord.  This  old  Chronicon  affords  an  illustration  of  the 
fact  that  the  transition  and  early  mediaeval  centuries  had 
brought  little  to  Italy  that  was  new  or  foreign,  little 
that  was  not  in  the  blood,  and  little  to  disturb  the  con- 
tinuity of  Italian  culture  and  character  which  moved 
along  without  break,  whether  in  ascending  or  descending 
curves. 

Yet  evidently  the  eleventh-century  Italian  is  no  longer  a 
Latin  of  the  Empire.  For  one  thing,  he  is  more  individual- 
istic. Formerly  the  prodigious  power  of  Roman  govern- 
ment united  citizens  and  subject  peoples,  and  impressed  a 
human  uniformity  upon  them.  The  surplus  energies  of  the 
Latin  race  were  then  absorbed  in  the  functions  of  the 
Respublica,  or  were  at  least  directed  along  common  channels. 
That  great  unification  had  long  been  broken;  and  the 
smaller  units  had  reasserted  themselves — the  civic  units  of 
town  or  district,  and  the  individual  units  of  human  beings 
upon  whom  no  longer  pressed  the  conforming  influence  of 
one  great  government. 

In  imperial  times  cities  formed  the  subordinate  units  of 
the  Respublica;  the  Roman,  like  the  Greek  civilization,  was 


328 


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BOOK  II 


essentially  urban.  This  condition  remained.  The  civiliza- 
tion of  Italy  in  the  eleventh  century  was  still  urban,  but 
was  now  more  distinctly  the  civilization  of  small  closely 
compacted  bodies,  which  were  no  longer  united.  For  the 
most  part,  the  life,  the  thought,  of  Italy  was  in  the  towns ; 
it  remained  predominantly  humanistic,  taken  up  with  men 
and  their  mortal  affairs,  their  joys  and  hates,  and  all  that 
is  developed  by  much  daily  intercourse  with  fellows.  Thus 
the  intellect  of  Italy'  continued  secular,  interesting  itself  in 
mortal  life,  and  not  so  much  occupied  with  theology  and 
the  life  beyond  the  grave.  This  is  as  true  of  the  intellectual 
energies  of  the  Roman  papacy  as  it  is  of  the  mental  activities 
of  the  towns  which  served  or  opposed  it,  according  to  their 
politics. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  intense  emotional  nature  of  the 
Italians  was  apt  to  be  religious,  and  given  to  despair  and 
tears  and  ecstasy ; its  love  welled  up  and  flung  itself  around 
its  object,  without  the  mediating  offices  of  reason.  If 
reflection  came,  it  was  love’s  ardent  musing,  rather  than 
religious  ratiocination.  One  does  not  forget  that  the  Ital- 
ians who  became  scholastic  theologians  or  philosophers  left 
Italy,  and  subjected  themselves  to  northern  spiritual  influ- 
ences at  Paris  or  elsewhere.  Their  greatest  were  Anselm, 
Peter  Lombard,  Bonaventura,  Thomas  Aquinas.  None  of 
these  remained  through  life  altogether  Italian. 

Thus,  with  Italians,  religion  meant  either  the  papal 
government  and  the  daily  conventions  of  observance  and 
minor  mental  habits,  all  very  secular ; or  it  meant  that  which 
was  a thing  of  ecstasy  and  not  of  thought — generally  speak- 
ing, of  course.  The  mediaeval  Italian  (in  the  eleventh 
century  only  to  a slightly  less  degree  than  in  the  twelfth  or 
thirteenth)  is,  typically  speaking,  a man  of  urban  human 
interests  and  affairs,  a politician,  a trader,  a doctor,  a man  of 
law  or  letters,  an  artist,  or  a poet.  If  really  religious,  his 
religion  is  an  emotion,  and  is  not  occupied  with  dogma,  nor 
interested  in  doctrinal  correctness  or  reform.  Such  a 
religious  character  may,  according  to  individual  temper, 
result  in  a Romuald 1 or  a Peter  Damiani ; its  perfected 
ideal  is  Francis  of  Assisi. 

1 Post,  Chapter  XVII. 


ch.  xiii  ELEVENTH  CENTURY : COMPARISONS  329 


Things  were  already  different  in  the  country  now  called 
France.  No  need  to  repeat  what  has  been  said  as  to  the 
lesser  strength  and  somewhat  broken  continuity  of  the 
antique  there,  as  compared  with  Italy.  Yet  there  was  a 
sufficient  power  of  antique  influence  and  descent  to  keep  the 
language  Romanesque,  and  the  forms  of  its  literature  partly 
set  by  antique  tradition.  But  the  spirit  was  not  Latin. 
Perhaps  it  had  but  seemed  such  with  the  Gallic  provincials. 
At  all  events,  the  incoming  Franks  and  other  Germans 
brought  a Teutonic  infusion  and  reinspiration  that  forever 
kept  France  from  being  or  becoming  a northern  Italy. 

Neither  was  the  spirit  urban.  To  be  sure,  much  of  the 
energy  of  French  thought  awoke  and  did  its  work  in  towns ; 
and  Paris  was  to  become  the  intellectual  centre.  But  the 
stress  of  French  life  was  not  so  surely  in  the  towns,  nor 
men’s  minds  so  characteristically  urban  as  in  Italy,  and 
by  no  means  so  predominantly  humanistic.  Even  in  the 
eleventh  century  the  lofty  range  of  French  thought,  of 
French  intellectual  interests,  is  apparent ; for  it  embraces 
the  problems  of  philosophy  and  theology,  and  does  not  find 
its  boundary  and  limit  in  phenomenal  or  mortal  life.  Gerbert 
is  almost  too  universal  an  intellect  to  offer  as  a fair  example. 
Yet  all  that  he  cared  for  is  more  than  represented  by  some- 
what younger  men  taken  together ; for  Gerbert  did  not  fully 
represent  the  interests  of  religious  thought  in  France.  His 
was  the  humanism  and  the  thirst  for  all  the  round  of 
knowledge  included  in  the  Seven  Arts.  But  he  scarcely 
reached  out  beyond  logic  to  philosophy;  and  theology  did 
not  trouble  him.  Both  philosophy  and  theology,  however, 
made  part  of  the  intellectual  interests  of  France;  for  there 
were  Berengar  and  Roscellinus,  Gaunilo  and  St.  Anselm, 
and  the  wrangling  of  many  disputatious,  although  over- 
whelmingly orthodox,  councils  of  French  Churchmen. 
Paris  also,  with  its  great  schools  of  theology  and  philosophy, 
looms  on  the  horizon.  The  intellectual  matter  is  but  in- 
choate, yet  universally  germinating,  in  the  eleventh  century. 

Thus  intellectual  qualities  of  mediaeval  France  appear 
inceptively.  The  French  mediaeval  temperament  needs 
perhaps  another  century  for  its  clear  development.  Both  as 
to  temperament  and  intellectual  interests,  a line  will  have  to 


330 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


be  drawn  between  the  south  and  north ; between  the  land  of 
the  langue  (Toe , the  Roman  law,  the  troubadour,  and  the 
easy,  irreligious,  gay  society  which  jumped  the  life  to  come; 
and  the  land  of  the  various  old  French  dialects  (amog 
which  that  of  the  Isle  de  France  will  win  to  dominance),  the 
land  of  philosophy  and  theology,  the  land  of  Gothic  ar  hi- 
tecture  and  religion,  the  hearth  of  the  crusades  against  the 
Saracen  or  the  Albigensian  heretic ; the  land  of  the  most 
distinctive  mediaeval  thought  and  strongest  intellectual 
development. 

In  the  Germany  and  the  England  of  the  eleventh 
century  there  is  less  of  interest  from  this  point  of  view. 
England  had  scarcely  become  her  mediaeval  self  ; the  time 
was  one  of  desperate  struggle,  or  at  most,  of  tumultuous 
settling  down  and  shaking  together.  As  for  Germany,  it 
was  surely  German  then,  and  not  a medley  of  Saxon,  Dane, 
and  Norman-French.  The  people  were  talking  in  their 
German  tongues.  German  song  and  German  epos  were 
already  heard  in  forms  which  were  not  to  be  cast  aside,  but 
retained  and  developed ; of  course  the  influence  of  the 
French  poetry  was  not  yet.  The  Germans  were  still  living 
their  own  sturdy  and  half-barbarous  life.  Those  who  loved 
knowledge  had  turned  with  earnest  purpose  to  the  Latin 
culture;  they  were  studying  Latin  and  logic,  and,  as  we 
have  said,  translating  it  into  their  German  tongue  or  tempera- 
ment. But  the  lessons  were  not  fully  mastered — not  yet 
transformed  into  German  mediaeval  intellectual  capacity. 
And  in  this  respect,  at  least,  the  German  will  become  more 
entirely  his  Germanic  mediaeval  self  in  another  century, 
when  he  has  more  faculty  of  using  the  store  of  foreign  know- 
ledge in  combination  with  his  strongly  felt  and  honestly 
considered  Christianity. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

PHASES  OF  MEDIAEVAL  GROWTH 

I.  The  Crusades. 

II.  Towns  and  Guilds. 

I 

The  Crusades  may  profitably  be  regarded  as  a phase  in 
the  mediaeval  development,  and  at  the  same  time  as  a 
chapter  in  the  long  story  of  the  effect  of  the  Orient  upon  the 
West.  Eastern  influences  have  always  been  complex,  and 
historians  have  found  difficulty  in  distinguishing  their  fruit 
from  much  that  was  more  properly  the  product  of  the  native 
and  progressive  energies  of  Europe.  When  and  where  do 
they  begin?  It  is  only  our  ignorance  that  would  commence 
with  the  Phoenicians  and  their  western  voyages,  or  with 
the  Greeks  living  under  oriental  influences  on  the  islands 
or  the  coasts  of  Asia  Minor.  The  data  are  subtile,  intricate, 
ubiquitous,  indistinguishable,  especially  from  the  time  when 
Hellenism  with  its  oriental  elements  becomes  the  informing 
spirit  of  taste  and  knowledge  for  the  Latins.  Christianity 
enters,  also  from  the  East,  not  Greek  in  origin,  but  passing 
westward  through  Hellenic  media.  If  afterwards,  under 
the  barbarization  of  the  West,  Hellenism  seems  to  sink  away, 
one  knows  that  it  had  become  very  part  of  that  Roman 
Christian  civilization  which  was  being  barbarized.  Through 
the  following  centuries  the  West  according  to  its  opportunities 
and  capacities  still  draws  from  the  East,  styles  of  architecture, 
for  example,  as  at  Ravenna,  or  at  Lyons,  or  at  Aix-la- 
Chapelle  where  the  only  surviving  building  of  the  Carolingian 
period  is  a replica  of  the  Byzantine  Church  of  St.  Vitale  at 

331 


332 


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BOOK  II 


Ravenna.  Through  the  earlier  Middle  Ages  Byzantine 
currents  never  ceased  to  affect  church  building  and  decora- 
tion, and  in  the  twelfth  century  the  great  Byzantine  mosaics 
bloom  anew  in  Norman  Sicily,  while  Venice  rises  from  her 
lagoons  half  Byzantine,  if  still  Italian.1 

With  the  advance  of  life  and  wealth  and  industry  and 
thought  in  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries,  the  West 
became  more  efficiently  receptive,  and  the  currents  from  the 
East  seem  to  take  on  new  vigour ; trade  routes  were  thronged, 
cities  were  springing  up  along  them,  people  were  journeying 
farther,  mental  as  well  as  physical  horizons  were  expanding. 
Along  those  new  routes,  and  into  those  new-grown  cities, 
more  wares  were  passing ; which  also  meant  that  more  wares 
from  the  East  were  being  carried  westward  in  Genoese, 
Pisan,  and  Venetian  bottoms,  to  where  the  land  and  river 
transport  opened  northerly  and  westerly  through  France, 
Germany,  and  the  Low  Countries.  This  is  also  the  very 
time  of  those  hostile  counter-movements  from  West  to  East, 
known  as  the  Crusades ; which  resulted  in  some  transient 
European  advance  on  Asia,  and  then  in  greatly  increased 
intercourse  between  the  West  and  the  Greek  and  Moslem 
East,  with  mutual  assimilation  of  views  and  habits  at  the 
borders  where  Moslem  and  western  Christian  populations 
met  and  stained  each  other.  A returning  Asiatic  invasion 
followed,  destined  for  centuries  to  oppress  the  eastern  half 
of  Europe  and  wrest  enormous  territories  from  Christianity. 

In  their  inception  the  Crusades  were  holy  wars  for  the 
recovery  of  the  Holy  Land : they  never  entirely  lost  the 
religious  motive.  One  must,  however,  be  on  guard  against 
attaching  too  fine  a meaning  to  the  words  “holy”  and 
“religious.”  There  always  had  been  wars,  and  wars  of 
conquest.  With  whom  should  wars  be  waged  if  not  with 
hostile  aliens  of  different  faith?  Was  the  war  against 
Attila  in  the  fifth  century  other  than  a holy  war  against 
heathen  ? And  the  wars  of  Charles  Martel  and  Charle- 
magne, whether  with  Arabs  toward  the  south,  or  with 
Saxons  on  the  north  and  east,  were  they  not  holy  wars, 
either  to  drive  back  the  heathen,  or  conquer  them  and 
bring  them  within  the  pale  of  Frankish  domination?  Con- 

1 Cf.  C.  Diehl,  Manuel  i'art  byzantin,  pp.  668-691  (Paris,  1910). 


CHAP.  XIV 


THE  CRUSADES 


333 


version  by  the  sword  was  an  essential  part  of  this  subjuga- 
tion. When  at  the  close  of  the  eleventh  century  the  heathen 
were  not  so  close  at  hand  in  western  Europe,  the  West  began 
a series  of  distant  holy  wars.  They  were  a result  of  all  the 
conditions  of  the  time,  an  expression  of  the  social  situation. 
The  religious  motive  led,  was  indeed  the  torch  which  fired 
the  whole  train  of  feudal,  economic,  fanatical  combustibles. 
All  sorts  of  people  joined ; the  impecunious  and  the  criminal ; 
the  religious  and  the  adventurous,  surplus  younger  sons  and  * 
great  feudal  lords  and  princes  whose  territories  would  have 
been  the  better  for  the  master’s  hand  at  home.  Many  a 
fief  was  pledged  to  equip  the  baron  and  his  men  on  this  far 
war  which  would  yield  him  adventure  and  the  joy  of  battle, 
win  him  eastern  lands  and  slaves  and  plunder,  and  bring 
him  salvation  when  he  fell. 

Jerusalem  was  won  and  held  for  eighty  years  (1099-1181). 
And  when  it  was  lost,  the  “ Franks,”  as  the  East  called 
them,  with  Venetians  and  Genoese  who  had  aided  in  the 
business,  still  held  the  line  of  trading  towns  along  the  coast 
of  Syria,  while  the  sea-power  and  commercial  marine  also 
remained  in  Christian  hands.  More  Crusaders  from  the 
West  launched  themselves  upon  the  Moslem.  With  some 
the  fiercest  motive  was  still  to  win  Jerusalem — a holy  motive 
in  that  holiest  of  mediaeval  kings,  St.  Louis,  who  died  at 
Tunis  on  his  second  Crusade.  Yet  politics  and  commerce 
had  gradually  become  dominant  with  Crusaders ; and  the 
conduct  of  the  enterprises  became  more  completely  lay. 
From  the  time  of  Urban  II. ’s  great  preaching  at  Clermont 
in  1095  the  popes  had  not  ceased  to  urge  the  holy  war ; and 
the  furtherance  of  these  enterprises  had  provided  opportunity 
for  their  interference  in  the  affairs  of  king  and  count  and 
baron  throughout  Christian  lands.  Incitements,  promises, 
threats,  and  excommunications,  employed  for  this  holy  end, 
strengthened  the  powers  of  the  papacy.  Yet  the  control 
of  the  Crusades  at  length  passed  from  papal  hands.  Innocent 
III.,  perhaps  the  most  powerful  of  all  the  popes,  failed  to 
retain  it.  The  Venetians  beat  him  : in  opposition  to  his 
will,  in  the  face  of  his  excommunications,  they  turned  the 
crusading  force  against  the  island  of  Zara  for  their  private 
ends;  and  then  Venetians,  Frenchmen,  Flemings  united  in 


334 


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BOOK  II 


the  capture  of — Constantinople!  And  the  pope  acquiesced.1 
This  was  in  1204.  Some  twenty-five  years  later  the  ex- 
communicated Emperor  Frederick  II.  obtained  Jerusalem, 
with  many  commercial  advantages,  by  treaty  from  the 
Saracens;  and  while  he  was  entering  the  Holy  City,  the 
soldiers  of  Pope  Gregory  IX.  were  invading  his  dominions  in 
Italy. 

So  the  management  of  the  Crusades,  even  as  their 
motives  and  results,  became  political  and  commercial.  At 
all  events  their  effects  on  western  Europe  pertained  entirely 
to  this  world — unless  the  increase  of  the  papal  power  be 
deemed  an  other-worldly  fact.  One  may  imagine  what 
sudden  expansion  of  Mediterranean  shipping  was  evoked 
by  the  repeated  call  to  transport  and  victual  and  support 
armies  upon  armies  from  the  West.  If  men  and  horses 
sometimes  went  by  land  (commonly  to  their  destruction) 
supplies  were  still  transported  from  Marseilles  or  Genoa  or 
Venice.  Only  such  powerful  maritime  republics  could  cope 
with  these  emergencies  and  profit  by  them. 

Yet  those  Italian  maritime  republics  were  rapidly  rising 
in  power  and  prosperity  irrespective  of  the  opportunity  for 
trade-expansion  brought  by  the  Crusades.  Indeed,  viewing 
the  industrial  advance,  the  growth  of  cities,  the  increase 
in  wealth  as  well  as  knowledge,  marking  the  twelfth  and 
thirteenth  centuries,  one  is  tempted  to  regard  not  only  the 
Crusades  themselves,  but  even  their  effect  upon  the  West, 
as  very  part  of  these  progressive  conditions.  It  was  not  the 
paynim  East  that  sent  its  wares,  customs,  knowledge,  to 
the  West;  the  West  came  and  got  what  the  East  had  to 
offer,  acting  as  discoverer,  appropriator,  and  carrier  of  these 
matters.  Asia  has  rarely  sent  its  wares  to  Europe;  Europe 
has  ever  gone  to  fetch  them. 

So  indeed  one  will  hesitate  to  regard  the  Crusades  as  the 
cause  of  an  advance  in  European  civilization.  Here  as 
always  it  is  safer  to  speak  of  the  conditions  and  the  many 
causes  making  for  such  an  advance.  Viewed  in  their  results 
the  Crusades  were  partially  successful  attempts  on  the  part 
of  a feudal  society  to  conquer  and  colonize : they  represent 

1 See  the  whole  story  admirably  told  by  A.  Luchaire,  Innocent  III la  question 
d’Orient  (Paris,  1907). 


CHAP.  XIV 


THE  CRUSADES 


335 


also  the  rising  commercial  energies  of  western  Europe, 
expanding  through  the  eastern  Mediterranean  and  the 
surrounding  lands,  then  pushing  backwards  more  vigorously 
through  the  west,  along  old  routes  or  new,  planting  fresh 
cities,  feeding  the  growth  of  old  ones  and  through  exchange 
of  wares  increasing  the  effective  wealth  of  every  land. 
In  turn,  conquest,  colonization,  trade  expansion,  with  stimu- 
lated cupidity  and  curiosity,  led  to  an  increase  of  knowledge 
of  the  earth  and  its  peoples.  If  the  Arabs  contributed  from 
their  (borrowed)  stores  of  astronomy,  mathematics,  and 
medicine,  still  larger  was  the  passive  role  held  by  the  Orient 
in  the  advance  of  European  culture.  Through  the  Crusades 
the  western  peoples  came  in  contact  with  a civilization 
different  from  their  own ; new  fields  of  study  were  suggested, 
the  oriental  languages  for  example;  from  which  of  course 
many  words  passed  into  the  western  tongues,  just  as  new 
plants  and  fruits  and  hand -made  wares  passed  westward, — 
but  in  European  bottoms.  The  Crusades  also  did  not  fail 
to  inspire  literature.  The  Historia  transmarina  of  William 
of  Tyre  x is  second  to  no  other  history  in  the  Middle  Ages ; 
the  Cycle  of  the  Crusades  enriched  the  store  of  narrative 
poetry,  while  ever  and  anon  the  soul  of  lyric  genius  was 
moved  by  longing  for  that  far  holy  enterprise  whose  symbol 
was  the  Cross.2 


II 

Towns  and  guilds  in  the  Middle  Ages  were  the  creatures 
of  the  mediaeval  faculty  of  industrial  association.  Their 
growth  represents  the  means  as  well  as  measure  of  the  civic 
and  industrial  advance  which  swept,  with  constantly  en- 
larging currents,  from  the  opening  of  the  twelfth  century 
on  through  the  thirteenth  and  into  the  fourteenth,  till 
checked  by  the  Hundred  Years’  War  between  France  and 
England  and  the  coming  of  the  Black  Death.  The  need  of 
privileged  exemption  from  the  exactions  of  the  feudal  lord 

1 Migne,  Patrologia  Latina,  tome  201. 

2 See  post,  p.  553  sqq.;  also  the  Crusader’s  song  of  Hartmann  von  Aue,  post, 
p.  365,  or  the  yearning  of  Walter  von  der  Vogelweide,  post,  Chapter  XXVII.  The 
article  by  Ernest  Barker  on  the  Crusades  in  the  eleventh  edition  of  the  Encyclopaedia 
Britannica  is  excellent. 


336 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


was  the  basic  raison  d'etre  of  the  town  in  France,  England, 
Germany,  if  not  in  Italy.  The  guild  was  the  closer  protective 
association  of  merchants  or  craftsmen.  With  the  twelfth 
century  both  the  one  and  the  other  seem  to  spring  into  being.1 
Their  quick  development  was  due  to  contemporary  condi- 
tions ; and  one  gains  scant  explanation  of  these  chief 
manifestations  of  the  industrial  energies  of  the  twelfth  and 
thirteenth  centuries  by  attempting  to  explore  their  ante- 
cedents. 

In  ways  complex  and  obscure  beyond  the  possibility  of 
exposition,  that  intricate  ensemble  of  personal  protection 
(or  oppression)  and  dependency  known  as  the  feudal  system 
established  itself,  apparently  destroying  and  superseding  the 
civic  institutions  of  the  Roman  Empire.  In  France,  Ger- 
many, England,  where  the  old  site  and  decaying  walls  still 
held  some  huddled  denizens,  hardly  a vestige  of  municipal 
organization  remained  to  differentiate  the  status  of  these 
denizens  from  other  serfs  or  freemen  of  the  land.  In  the 
twelfth  century  the  population  of  the  old  urban  centres 
increased ; and  many  new  towns  of  moderate  size  arose. 
The  industrial  class  which  stocked  them,  increasing  with 
growing  trade  and  improving  handicraft,  needed  personal 
freedom  and  protection  for  the  fruits  of  industry.  Associ- 
ated effort  was  the  means  by  which  these  traders  and 
artisans  were  to  attain  this  end.  Such  protective  association 
took  the  forms  of  towns  and  guilds,  advancing  toward 
municipal  independence  or  corporate  coherency.  This 
came  about  in  many  different  ways;  and  even  within  the 

1 A.  Luchaire,  in  his  Introduction  to  Les  Communes  franqaises  (1890),  speaks 
thus:  “En  France,  comme  dans  la  plupart  des  regions  de  l’Europe  feodale,  les 
institutions  populaires  se  sont  developpees  assez  tardivement.  Sauf  de  rares 
exceptions,  le  peuple  urbain  et  rural  n’a  pas  d’histoire  avant  le  debut  du  XIIe 
siecle.  C’est  alors  seulement  que  les  actes  d’affranchissement,  les  concessions  de 
libertes,  les  chartes  de  commune  deviennent  assez  nombreux  pour  forcer  l’attention 
des  classes  privilegiees  et  leur  apprendre  que  la  couche  inferieure  de  la  societe, 
surgissant  des  bas-fonds  du  servage,  demande  sa  place  au  soleil,  ose  meme  aspirer 
a l’existence  politique.  Mais  si  le  peuple  n’entre  en  scene  qu’apres  l’Eglise  et  la 
noblesse,  il  se  dedommage  rapidement  du  temps  perdu.  Le  XIIe  et  le  XIIIe 
siecle  ont  vu  se  produire  ce  mouvement  merveilleux  d’emancipation  qui  donna  la 
liberte  aux  serfs,  crea  les  bourgeoisies  privilegiees  et  les  communes  independantes, 
fit  sortir  de  terre  les  villes  neuves  et  les  bastides,  affranchit  les  corporations  de 
marchands  et  d’ouvriers,  en  un  mot  plaga  du  premier  coup,  a cote  de  la  royaut£, 
de  la  feodalite  et  de  PEglise,  une  quatrieme  force  sociale  destinee  a absorber  un  jour 
les  trois  autres.” 


CHAP.  XIV 


TOWNS  AND  GUILDS 


337 


same  country  at  the  same  time  there  were  stages  and  varieties 
of  urban  organization.  The  corporate  existence  of  the  town 
was  based  on  privileged  exemption ; 1 industrial  monopoly 
was  its  aim  and  the  aim  of  any  merchant  guild  or  craft  guilds 
within  it. 

Let  us  imagine  a feudal  seignory  at  some  time  prior  to 
the  twelfth  century,  somewhere  say  in  the  heart  of  the 
present  France.  It  covers  many  miles  of  territory.  Prob- 
ably there  is  a central  stronghold  of  the  lord.  Within  or 
around  it  may  be  groups  of  men,  or  families,  engaged  in 
some  sort  of  productive  labour,  perhaps  combined  with 
trade.  Many  of  them  may  be  serfs,  or  if  freemen  there  will 
still  be  scant  restriction  on  the  lord’s  seignorial  rights  as 
against  their  persons  and  over  the  ground  they  occupy. 
All  these  people,  few  or  many,  grouped  or  scattered,  do  not 
form  a town  or  commune,  for  they  possess  no  corporate 
privileges : as  a body  they  have  not  won  from  their  lord 
any  general  surrender  of  his  ordinary  seignorial  rights,  — his 
taxes  fixed  or  arbitrary,  his  annual  rents,  his  share  in  the 
crops  or  cattle,  his  rights  over  trade  and  the  holding  of 
markets  and  fairs,  over  the  exercise  of  the  crafts,  and  to 
tolls  innumerable  from  those  who  would  travel  by  road  or 
river,  or  cross  a bridge,  or  carry  merchandise  to  or  from|a 

1 This  seems  true  for  the  regions  comprised  under  the  present  names  of  England, 
France,  and  Germany,  as  may  be  seen  from  the  following  citations  from  English, 
French,  and  German  authorities  speaking  of  the  towns  in  their  respective  lands. 
“The  history  of  constitutional  progress  in  any  town  is  . . . the  history  of  the 
particular  steps  by  which  the  inhabitants  secured  immunity  from  various  dis- 
abilities.” W.  Cunningham,  English  Industry  and  Commerce,  p.  211,  vol.  i.  5th  ed. 
(1910). 

“A  l’etat  individuel,  le  vilain,  meme  affranchi,  reste  impuissant  et  annihile 
dans  le  seigneurie  ou  il  est  fixe.  II  ne  commence  a compter  que  lorsqu’il  fait 
partie  d’une  communaute.  La  communaute  populaire,  a son  tour,  ne  devient  une 
force  sociale  que  lorsqu’elle  est  privilegiSe,  et  que  la  collection  de  ses  habitants, 
formant  corps,  echappe  (en  partie  du  moins)  a I’exploitation  seigneuriale,  qui  est 
le  droit  commun.  Elle  arrive  enfin  a la  dignite  de  puissance  politique,  lorsqu’elle 
devient  mile  libre,  c’est-a-dire  lorsque  ses  habitants,  lies  entre  eux  par  une  associa- 
tion assermentee,  constituent  collectivement  une  seigneurie  et  entrent  a ce  titre 
dans  la  hierarchie  feodale.”  A.  Luchaire,  Manuel  des  institutions  franqaises,  p. 
353  (1892). 

G.  von  Below,  in  Das  dltere  deutsche  Stddtewesen  und  Biirgertum  (1905),  in  the 
opening  pages  explains  that  the  distinguishing  marks  of  a town  are  the  possession 
of  a market,  a fortified  wall,  special  town  jurisdiction,  independence  in  town 
matters,  municipal  organization,  privileges  (not  enjoyed  by  the  country)  in  taxa- 
tion and  military  service,  and  freedom  from  tolls.  Privilege  {V orrecht)  enters  all  these 
features,  and  thus  distinguishes  the  town. 

VOL.  I 


Z 


33» 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


town.  There  were  also  the  so-called  “ banalities,”  which 
required  the  people  to  use  the  forge,  the  mill,  the  press  of 
the  lord,  paying  for  the  service;  also  rights  of  forced  enter- 
tainment, and  finally  very  lucrative  rights  over  the  ad- 
ministration of  justice  and  the  freely  levied  fines,  which 
were  the  usual  punishments.  Still  further  oppressive  rights 
existed  over  serfs  and  the  land  they  tilled.1 

In  various  ways  and  degrees  of  completeness,  bringing 
one  stage  or  another  of  corporate  freedom,  some  of  these 
groups  of  men  bound  together  by  occupation,  interest,  or 
oath,  obtained  privileges  of  exemption.  The  usual  act  of 
consummation  was  the  granting  of  the  charter,  giving  the 
townsmen  corporate  existence  as  a town,  with  free  juris- 
diction over  their  acts  and  delicts  as  townsmen,  and  such 
immunity  from  the  seignorial  rights  of  their  former  master 
that  they  became  a political  or,  if  one  will,  feudal  entity, 
a seignory,  a corporate  lordship,  almost  as  their  former 
master  was  himself  a lord.2  Thus  the  formation  of  a town 
represented  emergence  from  serfdom  or  subjection,  and  the 
establishment  of  reciprocal  obligations  of  lord  and  vassal. 
Such  manner  of  coming  into  existence  admits  little  direct 
heirship  of  Roman  municipal  institutions,  and  makes  the 
mediaeval  town  a mediaeval  creation. 

The  above  statements  apply  but  lamely  to  the  towns  of 
Italy.  True,  their  constitutions  were  not  developed  out  of 
Roman  municipal  institutions.  And  yet,  being  Italian,  they 
were  the  heirs  of  the  great  hereditas  jacens  of  Roman  Italy. 
That  had  been  predominantly  urban ; and  as  Italian 
civilization  reasserted  itself  after  its  period  of  degeneracy 
and  confusion  it  also  showed  itself  urban,  and  proceeded  to 
prove  its  power  by  attacking  intrusive  Germanic  feudal 
elements,  destroying  some,  accepting  some,  and  in  general 
effecting  a compulsory  transmuting  of  them  into  turbulent 
constituents  of  city  life.  The  cities  of  Italy  evinced  a more 
various  and  complex  life  within  their  walls  than  con- 
temporary northern  towns,  because  they  included  a greater 
variety  of  human  elements.  Undoubtedly  the  conditions  of 

1 See  A.  Luchaire,  Manuel  des  institutions  franqaises  (1892),  pp.  294  sqq.  and 
especially  pp.  335-35 

2 Cf.  Luchaire,  o.c.,  p.  402.  But  the  town  would  remain  a vassal  of  a lord,  or 
of  the  king.  Its  lord  usually  was  himself  a vassal  of  a higher  feudal  dignitary. 


CHAP.  XIV 


TOWNS  AND  GUILDS 


339 


growth  of  the  towns  in  England,  France,  and  Germany  varied 
to  some  extent  within  each  country.  More  essentially 
variegating  factors  affected  the  growth  of  towns  in  Italy, 
racial  differences  for  example,  renewed  invasions  from 
without,  the  bodily  presence  of  the  papacy,  a great  variety  of 
circumstance  and  situation;  also  a more  manifold  genius 
for  city  life  quickened  these  diverse  conditions. 

Moreover  there  had  been  a general  continuity  of  city 
life  in  Italy  with  which  the  North  had  nothing  to  compare. 
In  Gothic,  Lombard,  Frankish  times  the  Italian  towns  were 
squalid  and  harassed.  But  there  they  were,  in  Lombardy 
for  example,  where  Milan  could  show  a continuous  existence 
scarcely  second  to  that  of  Rome.  The  towns  were  storm- 
swept  islands  in  a surging  sea;  and  in  such  islands  the 
bishop  was  likely  to  be  the  rock  of  refuge.  The  population 
consisted  of  the  Italian  stocks  rather  than  of  the  invading 
German.  The  Germans  brought  Feudalism  in  the  making, 
and  small  and  great  they  formed  a somewhat  anti-urban 
or  at  least  anti-civic  class,  until  they  too  were  drawn  within 
the  dominating  civic  currents  of  Italy.  The  growth  of  city 
freedom  was  usually  to  consist  in  immunity  from  the 
domination  of  the  Emperor  or  other  royal  ruler,  and  next 
from  the  rule  of  the  bishop  himself.  The  latter  might  be 
the  Emperor’s  representative;  but  he  frequently  was  the 
episcopal  nucleus  of  town  administration,  to  which  municipal 
immunities  had  been  attached.  Growth  in  civic  freedom 
also  lay  in  gaining  mastery  over  the  recalcitrant  anti-civic 
class,  who  as  feudal  nobles  held  strongholds  without  the  city 
or  within.  These  with  their  followers  in  course  of  time  were 
made  into  an  upper  class,  capitani  and  valvassori,  as  they 
were  called,  in  distinction  from  the  industrial  popolo.  If 
they  were  disturbing  elements  they  also  added  greatly  to  the 
variety  of  life  and  faculty  within  the  city  walls.  Italian 
towns  (our  eyes  are  rather  fixed  on  northern  Italy)  reached 
organization  as  communes  generally  in  the  eleventh  century. 

Everywhere  the  mediaeval  town  included  a number  of 
industrial  groups,  which  sometimes  had  been  organized  in 
societies  before  the  town  had  obtained  a charter  or  other- 
wise become  a commune.  Florence,  for  example,  did  not 
formally  become  a commune  until  the  end  of  the  eleventh 


340 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


century ; but  there  is  evidence  that  the  arti  were  organized 
before  then,  and  had  indeed  conducted  the  government  of 
the  virtual  city.  Thus  Florence  seems  to  arise  out  of  their 
federation.  Usually  an  Italian  town  harked  back  to  unhealed 
animosities  and  hostile  divisions,  which  had  been  brought 
to  some  sort  of  warring  co-existence  within  its  walls.  Oppos- 
ing factions  and  industrial  groups  were  apt  to  consider 
themselves  first.  Their  animosities  were  a barrier  to  civic 
sentiment  which,  on  the  other  hand,  was  fostered  by  the 
hatred  and  fear  of  other  towns  or  powers. 

The  obscure  origins  of  these  industrial  groups  (we  shall 
soon  be  calling  them  guilds)  were  vague,  unintended,  casual : 
definite  assertions  are  likely  to  misstate  such  poor  little 
unformed  facts.  In  northern  lands  the  Guild  Merchant 
was  the  first  to  reach  significance.  In  England,  where  it  was 
of  great  moment,  it  admitted  members  of  the  crafts  which 
were  gradually  forming  into  guilds.  Its  English  history 
begins  with  the  security  and  increase  of  trade  brought  by 
the  Norman  Conquest.  At  first  a private  society,  it  became 
an  important  privilege  of  the  town  and  even  part  of  its 
government  in  the  twelfth  century.1  Its  function  was 
to  regulate  the  town’s  trade  monopoly,  but  its  activities 
might  extend  to  the  control  of  every  industry.  Organized 
mediaeval  trade  and  craft  rested  on  monopoly.2  The 
creation  of  craft  guilds  entitled  to  monopolize  the  making 
and  selling  of  their  wares,  would  seem  to  have  weakened  the 
Guild  Merchant  in  England ; and  during  the  fourteenth 
century  this  general  organization  controlling  a monopoly  of 
trade  tended  to  separate  into  special  trade  and  craft  organiza- 
tions, each  controlling  the  monopoly  of  its  branch.3 

The  craft  guilds  (German  Zunft  or  Amt , French  metier) 
appear  later  than  the  Merchant  Guild.  Some  would  find 

1 In  France  in  certain  instances  ( e.g . that  of  St.  Omer),  the  commune  apparently 
grows  out  of  the  Merchant  Guild.  “II  est  hors  de  doute  que  les  privileges  commer- 
ciaux  accordes,  des  le  Xe  et  le  XIe  siecle,  aux  societes  de  marchands,  ont  ete,  sur  bien 
des  points,  l’origine  des  libertes  posterieurement  obtenues  par  les  villes  ou  s’etaient 
formees  ces  associations.  Le  gilde  marchande  fut  souvent,  en  effet,  le  ressort  prin- 
cipal de  la  revolution  communale  et  devint  la  commune  elle-meme  par  la  simple  ex- 
tension du  lien  qui  la  constituait.”  Luchaire,  Manuel,  etc.,  p.  359. 

2 “Les  hommes  du  moyen  age  ne  connaissaient  le  travail  industriel  que  sous  le 
forme  d’un  privilege  collectif,  constituant  un  monopole  en  faveur  du  corps  qui  en  etait 
investi.”  Luchaire,  Manuel,  etc.,  p.  360. 

8 Cf.  C.  Gross,  The  Gild  Merchant  (Oxford,  1890). 


CHAP.  XIV 


TOWNS  AND  GUILDS 


34i 


their  origin  in  groups  of  manorial  workmen  gradually 
acquiring  freedom  and  organization ; 1 and  others,  for  the 
towns  of  Italy  and  even  those  of  France,  would  see  in  them 
continuations  of  the  Roman  collegia  or  schools  of  workmen; 
while  again,  presumably  for  the  north,  they  have  been 
thought  to  revert  to  ancient  heathen  functions  or  associa- 
tions. One  may  remark  that  the  natural  tendency  of  men 
to  associate  will  apply  itself  to  any  interest  they  have  in 
common,  especially  where  that  interest  can  best  be  served 
through  common  action : moreover  mediaeval  society  in  all 
its  parts  rested  upon  claimed  and  accorded  privilege.  So 
the  men  of  each  industry,  meeting  together  as  was  natural, 
gradually  organized  themselves  into  craft  guilds,  to  be 
composed  of  master  workmen  and  apprentices  when  these 
societies  became  fully  developed  in  the  thirteenth  century. 
In  each  town  they  monopolized  the  exercise  of  their  trade 
or  craft.  They  also  concerned  themselves  with  the  moral 
and  religious  conduct  of  members,  with  the  regulation  of 
their  hours  of  labour  and  the  quality  of  the  product.  They 
became  extremely  numerous  in  certain  large  centres,  such  as 
Paris,  where  they  were  minutely  specialized. 

Let  us  trace  a little  further  the  fortunes  of  the  towns. 
In  general  their  development  was  to  conform  to  the  role  of 
industrial  segregations  within  a predominantly  feudal  world. 
Divergences  arose  from  the  different  political  and  social 
conditions  in  England  and  France  and  Germany  and  Italy; 
also  from  the  particular  situation  of  each  town  and  the 
genius  for  city  life  distinguishing  the  towns  by  race  and 
country  or  from  one  another  individually.  Everywhere 
their  ends  had  been  reached  under  the  dominant  and  often 
selfish  leadership  of  the  upper  class  within  them,  however 
that  class  may  be  named  or  constituted,  e.g.  the  merchants, 
the  patricians,  the  rich,  the  grandi.  Gradually,  by  insistence, 
by  riots,  by  revolts,  and  the  strength  of  numbers,  the  lesser 


1 Luchaire,  Manuel,  etc.,  p.  361  sqq.  There  might  be  grouping  and  association 
of  the  serf  or  free  workmen  on  an  estate;  but  it  would  be  naturally  in  the  towns  that 
a corporate  development  would  take  place.  E.g.  at  Chartres,  about  the  mansions 
of  the  Count  and  bishop,  artisans  soon  planted  themselves,  first  as  serfs,  but  with 
their  condition  improving  gradually.  Their  numbers  increase;  each  trade  has  its 
quarter,  butchers,  saddlers,  money-changers,  jewellers.  Levasseur,  Hist,  des  classes 
ouvrieres,  etc.,  i.  p.  264. 


342 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


trades  and  crafts  gained  an  important  or  dominant  share 
in  the  city  government.  The  time  of  this  revolution  was  the 
thirteenth  and  fourteenth  centuries.1 

In  the  next  stage,  the  political  and  municipal  liberties 
of  the  towns  declined  or  were  destroyed,  but  from  the 
action  of  very  different  agencies.  In  France  the  larger 
number  of  towns  had  been  industrially  enfranchised,  but 
never  constituted  political  entities.  Those  which  did  be- 
come free  self-governing  communes,  chiefly  in  the  north, 
found  their  freedom  of  small  avail  against  the  expanding 
power  of  the  French  monarchy  in  the  thirteenth  century. 
Sometimes  the  lower  orders  sought  the  royal  intervention 
against  the  oppressive  upper  class,  even  as  the  intervention 
of  the  Counts  of  Flanders  might  be  sought  in  towns  within 
their  feudal  territories.  There  was  frequent  trouble  in  the 
towns  of  northern  France  and  Flanders,  and  their  political 
and  financial  affairs  were  fatally  mismanaged.2  Yet  the 
liberties  which  these  free  communes  lost,  the  bourgeoisie 
were  in  part  to  regain  in  the  administration  of  the  national 
government ; and  this  loss  of  liberties  on  the  part  of  the 
communes  did  not  prevent  the  economic  and  social  progress 
of  the  industrial  classes  in  towns  which  never  had  attained 
a like  unstable  independence.3 

In  England  there  was  no  such  destruction  of  municipal 
liberties  as  came  upon  the  Communes  of  northern  France ; 
but  in  the  progressive  reign  of  Edward  I.,  through  the  action 
of  parliaments  in  which  the  towns  were  represented,  their 
franchises  were  gradually  transmuted  into  law  common  to 
the  realm ; and  the  close  protective  ordinances  of  particular 
towns  tended  to  widen  into  more  national  economic  policies.4 

1 Venice  affords  the  particular  exception,  in  her  complicated  course  towards 
a formal  commercial  oligarchy;  and  England  is  the  national  anomaly,  for,  from  the 
fourteenth  century,  the  government  of  English  towns  tended  rather  to  centre  in  smaller 
and  more  strictly  closed  groups.  See  C.  Gross,  The  Gild  Merchant. 

2 “La  commune  a ete  une  institution  assez  ephemere.  En  tant  que  seigneurie 
reellement  independante,  elle  n’a  guere  dure  plus  de  deux  siecles.  Les  exces  des 
communiers,  leur  mauvaise  administration  financiere,  leurs  divisions  intestines, 
l’hostilite  de  l’Eglise,  la  protection  onereuse  du  haut  suzerain  et  surtout  du  roi  telles 
ont  ete  les  causes  immediates  de  cette  decadence  rapide.”  A.  Luchaire,  Les  Com- 
munes franqaises,  p.  288  (1890). 

3 Cf.  Luchaire,  o.c.,  p.  292. 

* Cf.  Cunningham, ^English  Industry  and  Commerce,  5th  ed.,  1910,  vol.  i.  p.  261 

SQQ-\ 


CHAP.  XIV 


TOWNS  AND  GUILDS 


343 


In  Germany  town  privileges  had  been  won  through  the 
exertions  of  the  larger  merchants,  who  with  other  people  of 
consequence  constituted  a circle  of  leading  families  within 
the  town  and  conducted  town  affairs.  For  a while  these 
patrician  administrations  proceeded  satisfactorily ; but 
during  the  fourteenth  century,  discontent  permeated  the 
lesser  orders  of  tradesmen  and  craftsmen,  who  by  this  time 
were  organized  in  guilds  and  able  to  make  their  numbers 
felt  in  town  affairs.  Thereupon  in  a large  proportion  of 
German  towns,  the  process  of  democratization  advanced, 
either  peaceably  or  with  violence,  until  the  lower  orders  had 
their  will.  Often  the  craft  guilds  became  the  ruling  element 
in  town  administration.  The  towns  retained  their  liberties 
and  political  influence  for  a long  period  through  the  weakness 
of  the  imperial  government  and  its  conflicts  with  the  princes, 
and  those  of  the  latter  with  each  other.  They  constantly 
enhanced  their  power  through  the  formation  of  leagues  for 
commercial  or  military  purposes,  and  were  the  foyer  for  the 
development  of  administrative  and  commercial  law  through 
that  politically  divided  land.1 

In  Italy,  from  Rome  northward,  we  find  parts  of  the 
same  story  with  interesting  differences.  During  the  twelfth 
and  thirteenth  centuries,  the  heroic  age  of  the  Italian  Com- 
munes, very  generally  the  exclusive  town  administration 
was  wrested  from  the  upper  class,  and  the  craft  guilds  be- 
came powerful  in  town  affairs.  But  the  towns  were  not  to 
preserve  their  liberties ; for  the  fourteenth  century  opens 
the  well-known  story  of  the  capture  by  successful  condottieri , 
or  by  dynastic  families,  of  the  liberties  of  one  after  another 
of  the  north  Italian  towns.  Venice  is  the  well-known  and 
most  peculiar  exception.  But  the  story  of  the  anomalous 
and  fitful  commune  of  Rome  is  also  of  curious  interest. 
During  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries  when  for  good 
or  ill  the  papacy  awed  Europe,  the  popes,  even  Innocent  III., 
were  often  fugitives  from  Rome ! And  the  power  of  the 

1 The  mediaeval  town,  says  Karl  Lamprecht,  vol.  iv.  p.  206  of  his  Deutsche  Ge- 
schichte,  was  a closed  economic  body,  which  sought  to  fill  its  own  needs  by  its  own  prod- 
ucts, and  tended  toward  a protective  policy.  But  prohibitive  protection  was  avoided 
in  Germany  through  city  leagues,  which  made  commercial  intercourse  possible  among 
their  members.  In  the  course  of  the  fourteenth  century  the  territorial  powers  were 
persuaded  to  fall  in  with  the  policy  of  the  towns. 


344 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


popes  over  their  own  city  was  finally  established  at  the  closing 
of  the  great  schism  in  the  reign  of  Martin  V.  (1417-1431), 
a time  when  the  liberties  of  so  many  Italian  towns  had 
fallen  captive  to  local  tyrannies,  and  also  a time  when  the 
universal  papal  power  was  broken,  and  the  popes  were  about 
to  become  local  dynasts.1 

In  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries  the  towns  of 
England,  France,  and  Germany  were  sheer  industrial  centres, 
and  the  townspeople  were  taken  up  with  trade  and  handi- 
craft. They  had  scant  intellectual  interests,  but  were  very 
practically  religious  or  superstitious,  with  dashes  of  coarse 
scepticism.  Their  thoughts  did  not  represent  the  intellect- 
ually and  spiritually  best  in  the  world,  did  not  touch  the 
higher  reaches  of  the  saint,  the  theologian-philosopher,  or 
the  romantic  poet.  In  fine,  town  life  in  the  Middle  Ages 
did  not  contribute  to  what  was  loftiest  in  mediaeval  thinking, 
or  to  what  has  proved  most  appealing  in  mediaeval  romance, 
or  was  most  sublimely  or  most  subtly  beautiful  in  mediaeval 
art,  or  even  to  what  still  may  seem  to  have  been  most 
intimate  and  precious  in  mediaeval  life.  Hugo  of  St.  Victor, 
Thomas  Aquinas,  or  Bonaventura  did  not  draw  the  substance 
of  their  meditations  from  the  town,  nor  did  they  need  the 
experiences  of  its  promiscuous  human  intercourse  to  move 
them  to  the  expression  of  their  best.  In  romance,  Lancelot 
and  Guinevere,  Tristan  and  Iseult,  or  if  one  will,  the  endless 
garrulity  of  a Benoit  de  St.  More,  had  no  dependence  on  the 
town.  Art,  which  is  skilful  craft,  is  connected  with  industrial 
training,  and  perhaps  the  town’s  financial  contribution 
might  be  needed  for  the  building  and  decoration  of  a 
cathedral.  But  the  inspiring  thought  and  plan  and  meaning 
of  the  structure  had  more  to  do  with  cloistered  meditations ; 
nor  did  the  manifold  intricacy  of  symbolic  meaning  guiding 
the  sculpture  and  glass  painting,  spring  from  the  daily  jog 
and  stir  of  concrete  unsymbolic  incidents  which  furnish 
thoughts  for  townsfolk.  To  be  sure,  certain  genial  details 
of  decoration,  like  the  representation  of  the  crafts,  were 
city-born ; but  they  were  of  little  significance  in  the  build- 
ing’s scheme,  just  as  the  little  span  of  mortal  business  is  a 

^his  story  is  told  by  Pasquale  Villari  in  the  article  on  “The  Roman  Republic 
in  the  Middle  Ages,”  Encyclopaedia  Britannica,  vol.  xxiii.  p.  660  sqq. 


CHAP.  XIV 


TOWNS  AND  GUILDS 


345 


slight  thing  in  the  vista  of  the  soul’s  endless  bliss  or  misery. 
One  need  not  look  beyond  the  range  of  these  instances  for 
evidence  of  the  fact  that  the  most  precious,  the  most  typical 
and  original  elements  of  mediaeval  life  drew  little  inspiration 
from  the  towns. 

But  again  this  view  does  not  apply  to  Italy,  where  the 
matter  of  chief  interest  is  the  story  of  the  towns,  whether 
under  aristocracies,  democracies,  or  despotisms.  Within 
them  worked  the  strength  of  Italy  for  statecraft,  art,  culture, 
and  the  freeing  of  the  human  spirit.  Italian  civilization,  the 
Italian  habit  of  life,  was  urban ; and  whatever  thought  or 
feeling  or  romance  grew  up  in  mediaeval  Italy,  could  be 
found  within  the  towns,  and  had  its  share  if  not  its  source 
in  city  life.  Did  not  the  Divina  Commedia  draw  its  human 
setting  from  the  life  and  strife  of  towns  and  in  towns  attain 
to  its  inspired  being?  But  more  especially  Italian  humanism 
was  to  be  the  fruit  of  towns,  even  as  the  Greek  and  Latin 
classics  were ; and  from  city  life,  rather  than  from  seclusion, 
the  Italian  humanists  were  to  learn  to  understand  them. 
The  greater  part  of  these  humanists,  especially  as  the  Middle 
Ages  close,  were  town-bred  scholars,  who  perhaps  might 
seek  for  a while  a quiet  retreat  for  their  studies  or  to  indulge 
that  taste  for  country-life  which  is  so  unmistakably  a 
city-child.  Petrarch’s  literary  delight  in  the  solitude  of 
Vaucluse  or  the  quiet  of  Aqua  was  as  city-bred  and  self- 
conscious  as  the  pastoral  poetry  of  the  Alexandrian  Theo- 
critus. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  GROWTH  OF  MEDIAEVAL  EMOTION 

I.  The  Patristic  Chart  of  Passion. 

II.  Emotionalizing  of  Latin  Christianity. 

The  characteristic  passions  of  a period  represent  the 
emotionalized  thoughts  of  multitudes  of  men  and  women. 
Mediaeval  emotional  development  followed  prevailing  ideas, 
opinions,  convictions,  especially  those  of  mediaeval  Chris- 
tianity. Its  most  impressive  phases  conformed  to  the  tenets 
of  the  system  which  the  Middle  Ages  had  received  from  the 
Church  Fathers,  and  represented  the  complement  of  passion 
arising  from  the  long  acceptance  of  the  same.  One  may 
observe,  first,  the  process  of  exclusion,  inclusion,  and  enhance- 
ment, through  which  the  Fathers  formed  a certain  synthesis 
of  emotion  from  the  matter  of  their  faith  and  the  circum- 
stances of  their  environment ; and,  secondly,  the  further 
growth  of  emotion  in  the  Middle  Ages. 


I 

In  the  centuries  immediately  preceding  and  following 
the  Christian  era  there  took  place  a remarkable  growth  of 
the  pathetic  or  emotional  element  in  Greek  and  Roman 
literature.  Yet  during  the  same  period  Stoicism,  the  most 
respected  system  of  philosophy,  kept  its  face  as  stone,  and 
would  not  recognize  the  ethical  value  of  emotion  in  human 
life.1  But  the  emotional  elements  of  paganism,  which  were 
stretching  out  their  hands  like  the  shades  by  Acheron,  were 


i Cf.  Taylor,  Ancient  Ideals,  chaps,  xv.,  xvi. ; Classical  Heritage,  chaps,  ii.,  iii. 

346 


CHAP.  XV 


EMOTIONAL  DEVELOPMENT 


347 


not  to  be  restrained  by  philosophic  admonition,  or  Virgilian 
desine  fata  deum  jlecti  s per  are  precando.  And  though  the 
Stoic  could  not  consent  to  Juvenal's  avowal  that  the  sense  of 
tears  is  the  best  part  of  us,  Neo-Platonism  soon  was  to 
uphold  the  sublimated  emotion  of  a vision  transcending 
reason  as  the  highest  good  for  man.  Rational  self-control 
was  disintegrating  in  the  Neo-Platonic  dialectic,  which 
pointed  beyond  reason  to  ecstasy.  That  ecstasy,  however, 
was  to  be  super-sensual,  and  indeed  came  only  to  those  who 
had  long  suppressed  all  cravings  of  the  flesh.  This  ascetic 
emotionalism  of  the  Neo-Platonic  summum  bonum  was 
strikingly  analogous  to  the  ideal  of  Christian  living  pressing 
to  domination  in  the  patristic  period. 

No  need  to  say  that  the  Gospel  of  Jesus  was  addressed 
to  the  heart  as  well  as  to  the  mind ; and  for  times  to  come 
the  Saviour  on  the  Cross  and  at  its  foot  the  weeping  Mother 
were  to  rouse  floods  of  tears  over  human  sin,  which  caused 
the  divine  sacrifice.  The  words  Jesus  wept  heralded  a new 
dispensation  under  which  the  heart  should  quicken  and  the 
mind  should  guide  through  reaches  of  humanity  unknown 
to  paganism.  This  Christian  expansion  of  the  spirit  did 
not,  however,  address  itself  to  human  relationships,  but 
uplifted  itself  to  God,  its  upward  impulse  spurning  mortal 
loves.  In  its  mortal  bearings  the  Christian  spirit  was  more 
ascetic  than  Neo-Platonism,  and  its  elan  of  emotion  might 
have  been  as  sublimated  in  quality  as  the  Neo-Platonic,  but 
for  the  greater  reality  of  love  and  terror  in  the  God  toward 
whom  it  yearned  with  tears  of  contrition,  love,  and  fear. 

Another  strain  very  different  from  Neo-Platonism  con- 
tributed to  the  sum  of  Christian  emotion.  This  was  Judaism, 
which  recently  had  shown  the  fury  of  its  energy  in  de- 
fence of  Jerusalem  against  the  legions  of  Titus.  Christians 
imbibed  its  force  of  feeling  from  the  books  of  the  Old 
Testament.  The  passion  of  those  writings  was  not  as  the 
humanly  directed  passions  of  the  Greeks.  Israel’s  desire 
and  aversion,  her  scorn  and  hatred,  her  devotion  and  her 
love,  hung  on  Jehovah.  “Do  I not  hate  them,  O Jehovah, 
that  hate  thee?”  This  cry  of  the  Psalmist  is  as  Elijah’s 
“Take  the  prophets  of  Baal;  let  not  one  of  them  escape.” 
Jewish  wrath  was  a righteous  intolerance,  which  would 


348 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


neither  endure  idolatrous  Gentiles  nor  suffer  idolaters  in 
Israel.  Moses  is  enraged  by  the  sight  of  the  people  dancing 
before  the  golden  calf ; and  Isaiah’s  scorn  hisses  over  those 
daughters  of  Israel  who  have  turned  from  Jehovah’s  ways 
of  decorum:  “ Because  the  daughters  of  Zion  are  haughty, 

and  walk  with  stretched  forth  necks,  and  wanton  eyes, 
mincing  as  they  go,  and  making  a tinkling  with  their  feet ; 
therefore  Jehovah  will  smite  with  a scab  the  crown  of  the 
head  of  the  daughters  of  Zion,  and  Jehovah  will  lay  bare 
their  secret  parts.” 

Did  a like  scorn  and  anger  find  harbourage  in  Him  who 
likened  the  Pharisees  to  whitened  sepulchres,  and  with  a 
scourge  of  small  cords  drove  the  money-changers  from  His 
Father’s  house?  At  all  events  a kindred  hate  found  an 
enduring  home  in  the  religion  of  Tertullian  and  Athanasius, 
and  in  the  great  Church  that  persecuted  the  Montanists  at 
Augustine’s  entreaty,  and  thereafter  poured  its  fury  upon 
Jew  and  Saracen  and  heretic  for  a thousand  years. 

Jehovah  was  also  a great  heart  of  love,  loving  His 
people  along  the  ways  of  every  sweet  relationship  understood 
by  man.  “When  Israel  was  a child,  then  I loved  him,  and 
out  of  Egypt  called  my  son  hither.”  “Can  a woman  forget 
her  sucking  child,  so  as  not  to  yearn  upon  the  son  of  her 
womb?  Yea,  these  may  forget,  yet  will  I not  forget  thee.” 
Again,  Jehovah  is  the  husband,  and  Israel  the  sinning  wife 
whom  He  will  not  put  away.1  Israel’s  responding  love 
answers:  “My  soul  waits  on  God — My  heart  and  flesh  cry 
aloud  to  the  living  God — Like  as  the  hart  panteth  for 
the  water-brooks”!  Such  passages  throb  obedience  to 
Deuteronomy’s  great  command,  which  Jesus  said  was  the 
sum  of  the  Law  and  the  Prophets.  No  need  to  say  that 
the  Christian’s  love  of  God  had  its  emotional  antecedent  in 
Psalmist  and  Prophet.  Jehovah’s  purifying  wrath  of  love 
also  passed  over  to  the  Christian  words,  “As  many  as  I 
love,  I reprove  and  chasten.”  And  “the  fear  of  the  Lord, 
which  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom,”  found  its  climax  in 
the  Christian  terror  of  the  Judgment  Day. 

The  Old  Testament  has  its  instances  of  human  love : 
Isaac  and  Rebekah,  Jacob  and  Rachel.  There  is  Jacob’s 

1 Hosea,  i.-iii. 


CHAP.  XV 


EMOTIONAL  DEVELOPMENT 


349 


love  of  Joseph  and  Benjamin,  and  Joseph’s  love,  which 
yearned  upon  his  brethren  who  had  sold  him  to  the 
Egyptians.  The  most  loving  man  of  all  is  David,  with  his 
love  of  Jonathan,  “ wonderful  and  passing  the  love  of 
women,”  unforgotten  in  the  king’s  old  age,  when  he  asks, 
“Is  there  yet  any  living  of  the  house  of  Saul,  that  I may 
show  him  kindness  for  Jonathan’s  sake?”  To  a later  time 
belongs  the  Song  of  Songs.  Beautiful,  orientally  sensuous, 
too  glowing  perhaps  for  western  taste,  is  this  utterance  of 
unchecked  passion.  And  its  fortune  has  been  the  most 
wonderful  that  ever  fell  to  a love  poem.  It  became  the 
epithalamion  of  the  Christian  soul  married  to  Christ,  an 
epithalamion  which  was  to  be  enlarged  with  passionate 
thought  by  doctor,  monk,  and  saint,  through  the  Christian 
centuries.  The  first  to  construe  it  as  the  bridal  of  the  Soul 
was  one  who,  by  an  act  more  irrevocable  than  a monastic 
vow,  put  from  him  mortal  bridals — Origen,  the  greatest 
thinker  of  the  Eastern  Church.  Thus  the  passion  of  the 
Hebrew  woman  for  the  lover  that  was  to  her  as  a bundle 
of  myrrh  lying  between  her  breasts,  was  lifted,  still  full  of 
desire,  to  the  love  of  the  God-man,  by  those  of  sterile  flesh 
and  fruitful  souls. 

Christianity  was  not  eclecticism,  which,  for  lack  of 
principles  of  its  own,  borrows  whatever  may  seem  good. 
But  it  made  a synthetic  adoption  of  what  could  be  included 
under  the  dominance  of  its  own  motives,  that  is,  could  be 
made  to  accord  with  its  criterion  of  Salvation.  What  sort 
of  synthesis  could  it  make  of  the  passions  and  emotions  of 
the  Graeco-Roman-Oriental-Jewish  world?  That  which  was 
achieved  by  the  close  of  the  patristic  period,  and  was  to  be 
passionately  approved  by  the  Middle  Ages,  proceeded  partly 
in  the  way  of  exclusion,  and  partly  by  adding  a quality  of 
boundlessness  to  the  emotional  elements  admitted. 

With  the  first  conversions  to  the  new  religion,  arose  the 
problem : What  human  feelings,  what  loves  and  interests  of 
this  world,  shall  the  believer  recognize  as  according  with  his 
faith,  and  as  offering  no  obstacle  to  the  love  of  God  and  the 
attainment  of  eternal  life?  A practical  answer  was  given 
by  the  growth  of  an  indeterminate  asceticism  within  the 
Christian  communities,  which  in  the  fourth  century  went 


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forth  with  power,  and  peopled  the  desert  with  anchorites 
and  monks. 

Ascetic  suggestions  came  from  many  sources  to  the 
early  Christians.  Stoicism  was  ascetic  in  tendency;  Neo- 
Platonism  ascetic  in  principle,  holding  that  the  soul  should 
be  purged  from  contamination  with  things  of  sense.  Through- 
out Egypt  asceticism  was  rife  in  circles  interested  in  the 
conflict  of  Set  and  his  evil  host  with  Horus  seeking 
vengeance  for  Osiris  slain ; and  we  know  that  some  of  the 
earliest  Christian  hermits  had  been  recluses  devoted  to  the 
cult  of  Serapis.  In  Syria  dwelt  communities  of  Jewish 
Essenes,  living  continently  like  monks.  Nevertheless,  what- 
ever may  have  been  the  effects  of  such  examples,  monasticism 
developed  from  within  Christianity,  and  was  not  the  fruit  of 
influences  from  without. 

The  Lord  had  said,  “My  kingdom  is  not  of  this  world” ; 
and  soon  enough  there  came  antagonism  between  the  early 
Churches  and  the  Roman  Empire.  The  Church  was  in 
a state  of  conflict.  It  behoved  the  Christian  to  keep 
his  loins  girded : why  should  he  hamper  himself  with 
ephemeral  domestic  ties,  when  the  coming  of  the  Lord 
was  at  hand  ? Moreover,  the  Christian  warfare  to  the 
death  was  not  merely  with  political  tyranny,  but  against 
fleshly  lusts.  Such  convictions,  in  men  and  women  desirous 
of  purifying  the  soul  from  the  cravings  of  sense,  might  bring 
the  thought  that  even  lawful  marriage  was  not  as  holy  as 
the  virgin  state.  The  Christian’s  ascetic  abnegation  had 
as  a further  motive  the  love  of  Christ  and  the  desire  to  help 
on  His  kingdom  and  attain  to  it,  the  motive  of  sacrifice  for 
the  sake  of  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven ; for  which  one  man 
must  be  burned,  another  must  give  up  his  goods,  and  a third 
renounce  his  heart’s  love.  Ascetic  acts  are  also  a natural 
accompaniment  of  penitence  : the  sinner,  with  fear  of  hell  be- 
fore him,  seeks  to  undergo  temporal  in  order  to  avoid  eternal 
pain ; or,  better,  stung  by  love  of  the  Crucified,  his  heart 
cries  for  flagellation.  When  St.  Martin  came  to  die  he 
would  lie  only  upon  ashes : “I  have  sinned  if  I leave  you  a 
different  example.”  1 A similar  strain  of  religious  conviction 
is  rendered  in  Jerome’s  “ You  are  too  pleasure-loving,  brother, 

1 Sulpicius  Severus,  Episl.  iii. 


CHAP.  XV 


EMOTIONAL  DEVELOPMENT 


351 


if  you  wish  to  rejoice  in  this  world  and  hereafter  to  reign 
with  Christ/’ 1 

So  currents  of  ascetic  living  early  began  in  Christian 
circles;  and  before  long  the  difficulty  of  leading  lives  of 
self-mortification  within  the  community  was  manifest.  It 
was  easier  to  withdraw : ascetics  must  become  anchorites, 
“they  who  have  withdrawn.”  Here  was  reason  why  the 
movement  should  betake  itself  to  the  desert.  But  the 
solitary  life  is  so  difficult,  that  association  for  mutual  aid 
will  soon  ensue ; and  then  regulations  will  be  needed  for 
these  newly-formed  ascetic  groups.  So  anchorites  tended  to 
become  coenobites  ; monasticism  has  begun. 

In  both  its  hermit  and  coenobitic  phases,  monasticism 
began  in  the  East,  in  Syria  and  the  Thebaid.  It  was 
accepted  by  the  Latin  West,  and  there  became  impressed 
with  Roman  qualities  of  order,  regularity,  and  obedience. 
The  precepts  of  the  eastern  monks  were  collected  and 
arranged  by  Cassian,  a native  of  Gaul,  in  his  Institutes  and 
Conlocations,  between  the  years  419  and  428.  And  about 
a century  afterwards,  western  monasticism  received  its 
type-form  in  the  Regula  of  St.  Benedict  of  Nursia  (d.  543), 
which  was  approved  by  the  authority  of  Gregory  the  Great 
(d.  604). 2 

By  the  close  of  the  patristic  period,  monasticism  had 

1 These  words  occur  in  Jerome’s  famous  letter  (Ep.  xiv.),  in  which  he  exhorts 

the  wavering  Heliodorus  to  sever  all  ties  and  affections:  “Do  not  mind  the 

entreaties  of  those  dependent  on  you,  come  to  the  desert  and  fight  for  Christ’s 
name.  If  they  believe  in  Christ,  they  will  encourage  you;  if  they  do  not, — let 
the  dead  bury  their  dead.  A monk  cannot  be  perfect  in  his  own  land;  not  to 
wish  to  be  perfect  is  a sin;  leave  all,  and  come  to  the  desert.  The  desert  loves 
the  naked.  O desert,  blooming  with  the  flowers  of  Christ!  O solitude,  whence 
are  brought  the  stones  of  the  city  of  the  Great  King!  O wilderness,  rejoicing 
close  to  God!  What  would  you,  brother,  in  the  world, — you  that  are  greater 
than  the  world?  How  long  are  the  shades  of  roofs  to  oppress  you?  How  long 
the  dungeon  of  a city’s  smoke?  Believe  me,  I see  more  of  light!  Do  you  fear 
poverty?  Christ  called  the  poor  ‘blessed.’  Are  you  terrified  at  labour?  No 
athlete  without  sweat  is  crowned.  Do  you  think  of  food?  Faith  fears  not 
hunger.  Do  you  dread  the  naked  ground  for  limbs  consumed  with  fasts?  The  Lord 
lies  with  you.  Does  the  infinite  vastness  of  the  desert  fright  you?  In  the  mind  walk 
abroad  in  Paradise.  Does  your  skin  roughen  without  baths?  Who  is  once  washed 
in  Christ  needs  not  to  wash  again.  And  in  a word,  hear  the  apostle  answering : The 

sufferings  of  the  present  time  are  not  to  be  compared  with  the  glory  to  come  which  shall 
be  revealed  in  us!” 

2 In  my  Classical  Heritage,  pp.  136-197,  I have  given  an  account  of  the  origins 
of  monasticism,  and  of  its  distinctive  western  features.  There  I have  also  set  out 
the  Rule  of  Benedict,  with  sketches  of  the  early  monastic  character. 


352 


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become  the  most  highly  applauded  practical  interpretation 
of  Christianity.  Its  precepts  represented  the  requirements 
of  the  Christian  criterion  of  Salvation  applied  to  earthly  life. 
Like  all  great  systems  which  have  widely  prevailed  and  long 
endured,  it  was  not  negation,  but  substitution.  If  it  con- 
demned usual  modes  of  pleasure,  this  was  because  of  their 
incompatibility  with  the  life  it  inculcated.  The  Regula  of 
Benedict  set  forth  a manner  of  life  replete  with  positive 
demands.  Its  purpose  was  to  prescribe  for  those  who  had 
taken  monastic  vows  that  way  of  living,  that  daily  round  of 
occupation,  that  constant  mode  of  thought  and  temper, 
which  should  make  a perfected  Christian,  that  is,  a perfect 
monk.  And  so  broad  and  spiritually  interwoven  were  its 
precepts  that  one  of  them  could  hardly  be  obeyed  without 
fulfilling  all.  Read,  for  example,  the  beautiful  seventh 
chapter  upon  the  twelve  grades  of  humility,  and  it  will  be- 
come evident  that  whoever  achieves  this  virtue  will  gain  all 
the  rest : he  will  always  have  the  fear  of  God  before  his  eyes, 
the  terror  of  hell  and  the  hope  of  heaven ; he  will  cut  off  the 
desires  of  the  flesh ; he  will  do,  not  his  own  will,  but  the 
Lord’s ; since  Christ  obeyed  His  Father  unto  death,  he  will 
render  absolute  obedience  to  his  superior,  obeying  readily  and 
cheerfully  even  when  unjustly  blamed ; in  confession  he  will 
conceal  no  evil  thought ; he  will  deem  himself  vilest  of  all, 
and  will  do  nothing  save  what  the  regula  of  the  monastery 
or  the  example  of  the  elders  prescribes ; he  will  keep  from 
laughter  and  from  speech,  except  when  questioned,  and  then 
he  will  speak  gently  and  humbly,  and  with  gravity,  in  few 
words ; he  will  stand  and  walk  with  inclined  head  and  looks 
bent  on  the  ground,  feeling  himself  unworthy  to  lift  up  his 
eyes  to  heaven : through  these  stairs  of  humility  he  will 
reach  that  perfect  love  of  God  which  banishes  fear,  and  will 
no  longer  need  the  fear  of  hell,  as  he  will  do  right  from  habit 
and  through  the  love  of  Christ. 

Having  thus  pointed  out  the  way  of  righteousness, 
Benedict’s  regula  gives  minute  precepts  for  the  monk’s 
conduct  and  occupation  through  each  hour  of  the  day  and 
night.  No  time,  no  circumstance  shall  be  left  unguarded, 
or  unoccupied  with  those  acts  which  lead  to  God.  Wise 
was  this  great  prototypal  regula  in  that  its  abundance  of 


CHAP.  XV 


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353 


positive  precepts  kept  the  monk  busy  with  righteousness,  so 
that  he  might  have  no  leisure  for  sin.  Its  prohibitions  are 
comparatively  unemphatic,  and  the  monk  is  guided  along 
the  paths  of  righteousness  rather  than  forbidden  to  go  astray. 

Thus  monk  and  nun  were  consecrated  to  a calling  which 
should  contain  their  whole  desire,  as  it  certainly  demanded 
their  whole  strength.  Was  the  monk  a celibate  because 
carnal  marriage  was  denied  him?  Rather  he  was  wedded 
to  Christ.  If  this  is  allegory,  it  is  also  close  to  literal  truth. 
“Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  and 
with  all  thy  soul,  and  with  all  thy  mind.”  Is  not  love  the 
better  part  of  marriage?  And  how  if  the  Lord  thy  God  has 
been  a gracious  loving  figure  here  on  earth,  who  loved  thee 
humanly  as  well  as  divinely,  and  died  for  thee  at  last  ? Will 
not  the  complete  love  required  by  the  commandment  become 
very  ardent,  very  heart-filling  ? Shalt  thou  not  always  yearn 
to  see  Him,  fall  at  His  feet,  confess  thy  unworthiness,  and 
touch  His  garment?  Is  there  any  end  to  the  compass  of 
thy  loving  Him,  and  musing  upon  Him,  and  dwelling  in  His 
presence?  Dost  thou  not  live  with  Him  in  a closer  com- 
munion than  the  sunderances  of  mortality  permit  among 
men,  or  between  men  and  women?  And  if  it  be  thou  art  a 
nun,  art  thou  not  as  close  to  Him  in  tears  and  washing  of 
those  blessed  feet,  as  ever  was  that  other  woman,  who  had 
been  a sinner?  Thou  shalt  keep  thy  virginity  for  Him  as 
for  a bridegroom.1 

But  the  great  commandment  to  love  the  Lord  thy 
God  has  an  adjunct — “and  thy  neighbour  as  thyself.”  As 
thyself — how  does  the  monk  love  himself?  why,  unto  Christ 
and  his  own  salvation.  He  does  not  love  his  sinful  pleasures, 
nor  those  matters  of  earth  which  might  not  be  sins,  had  he 
not  realized  how  they  conflicted  with  his  scheme  of  life. 
His  love  for  a fellow  could  not  recognize  those  pleasures 

1 Cyprian  said  in  the  third  century,  addressing  himself  to  Christian  virgins : 
“Dominus  vester  et  caput  Christus  est  ad  instar  ad  vicem  masculi”  ( De  habitu 
virginum,  22).  To  realize  how  near  to  the  full  human  relationship  was  this 
wedded  love  of  Christ,  one  should  read  the  commentaries  and  sermons  upon 
Canticles.  Those  of  a later  time — St.  Bernard’s,  for  example — are  the  best, 
because  they  sum  up  so  much  that  had  been  gathering  fervour  through  the 
centuries.  One  might  look  further  to  those  mediaeval  instances  that  break 
through  mysticism  to  a sensuousness  in  which  the  man  Christ  becomes  an  almost 
too  concrete  husband  for  ecstatic  women.  See  post,  Chapter  XX. 

VOL.  I.  2 A 


354 


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which  he  himself  had  cast  away.  He  must  love  his  fellow, 
like  himself,  unto  the  saving,  not  the  undoing,  of  him — be 
his  true  lover,  not  his  enemy.  This  vital  principle  of 
Christian  love  had  to  recast  pagan  passion  and  direct  the 
affections  to  an  immortal  goal.  Under  it  these  reached  a 
new  absoluteness.  The  Christian  lover  should  always  be 
ready  to  give  his  life  for  his  friend’s  salvation,  as  for  his  own. 
So  love’s  offices  gained  enlargement  and  an  infinity  of  new 
relationship,  because  directed  toward  eternal  life.1 

Unquestionably  in  the  monk’s  eyes  passionate  love 
between  the  sexes  was  mainly  lust.  Within  the  bonds  of 
marriage  it  was  not  mortal  sin ; but  the  virgin  state  was  the 
best.  Here,  as  we  shall  see,  life  was  to  claim  its  own  and 
free  its  currents.  Monasticism  did  not  stop  the  human  race, 
or  keep  men  from  loving  women.  Such  love  would  assert 
itself ; and  ardent  natures  who  felt  its  power  were  to  find  in 
themselves  a love  and  passion  somewhat  novel,  somewhat 
raised,  somewhat  enlarged.  In  the  end  the  love  between 
man  and  woman  drew  new  inspiration  and  energy  from  the 
enhancement  of  all  the  rest  of  love,  which  came  with 
Christianity. 

Evidently  the  great  office  of  Christian  love  in  a heathen 
period  was  to  convert  idolaters  to  the  Faith.  So  it  had 
been  from  the  days  of  Paul.  Rapidly  Christianity  spread 
through  all  parts  of  the  Roman  Empire.  Then  the  Faith 
pressed  beyond  those  crumbling  boundaries  into  the  barbarian 
world.  Hereupon,  with  Gregory  the  Great  and  his  successors, 
it  became  clear  that  the  great  pope  is  always  a missionary 
pope,  sending  out  such  Christian  embassies  as  Gregory  sent 
to  the  Anglo-Saxon  kingdoms. 

If  conversion  was  a chief  office  of  Christian  love,  the 

1 The  whole  Christian  love,  first  the  love  of  God  and  then  the  love  of  man, 
is  felt  and  set  forth  by  Augustine.  “Thou  hast  made  us  toward  thee,  and 
unquiet  is  our  heart  until  it  rests  in  thee.  . . . That  is  the  blessed  life  to  rejoice 
toward  thee,  concerning  thee  and  because  of  thee.  . . . Give  me  thyself,  my  God. 
. . . All  my  plenty  which  is  not  my  God  is  need.”  With  his  love  of  God  his  love 
for  man  accords.  “This  is  true  love,  that  cleaving  to  truth  we  may  live  aright; 
and  for  that  reason  we  contemn  all  mortal  things  except  the  love  of  men,  whereby 
we  wish  them  to  live  aright.  Thus  can  we  profitably  be  prepared  even  to  die  for  our 
brethren,  as  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  taught  us  by  His  example.  ...  It  is  love  which 
unites  good  angels  and  servants  of  God  in  the  bond  of  holiness,  joins  us  to  them  and 
them  to  us,  and  subjoins  all  unto  God.”  These  passages  are  from  the  Confessions 
and  from  the  De  Trinitate. 


CHAP.  XV 


EMOTIONAL  DEVELOPMENT 


355 


great  object  of  Christian  wrath  was  unbelief.  That  existed 
within  and  without  Christendom : within  in  forms  of  heresy, 
without  in  the  practices  of  heathenism.  Christian  wrath 
was  moved  by  whatever  opposed  the  true  faith.  The 
Christian  should  discriminate : hate  the  sin,  and  love  the 
sinner  unto  his  betterment.  But  it  was  so  easy,  so  human, 
from  hating  the  sin  to  hate  the  obdurate  sinner  who  could 
not  be  saved  and  could  but  harm  the  Church.  One  need 
not  recount  how  the  disputes  of  the  Athanasian  time 
regarding  the  nature  of  Christ  came  to  express  themselves 
in  curses ; nor  how  the  Christian  sword  began  its  slaughter 
of  heretic  and  heathen.  Persecution  seemed  justified  in 
reason ; it  was  very  logical ; broad  reasons  of  Christian 
statecraft  seemed  to  make  for  it;  and  often  a righteous 
zeal  wielded  the  weapon.  It  had  moreover  its  apparent 
sanction  in  Jehovah’s  destroying  wrath  against  idolaters 
within  and  without  the  tribes  of  Israel. 

So  the  two  opposites  of  love  and  wrath  laid  aside 
some  of  their  grossness,  and  gained  new  height  and  compass 
in  the  Christian  soul.  A like  change  came  over  other 
emotions.  As  life  lifted  itself  to  further  heights  of  holiness, 
and  hitherto  unseen  depths  of  evil  yawned,  there  came  a 
new  power  of  pity  and  novel  revulsions  of  aversion.  The 
pagan  pity  for  life’s  mortality,  which  filled  Virgil’s  heart, 
could  not  but  take  on  change.  There  was  no  more 
mortality,  but  eternal  joy  and  pain.  Souls  which  had  so 
unavailingly  stretched  forth  their  hands  to  fate,  had  now 
been  given  wings  of  faith.  Yet  death  gained  blacker  terror 
from  the  Christian  Hell,  the  newly-assured  alternative  of 
the  Christian  Heaven.  The  great  Christian  pity  did  not 
touch  the  mortal  ebbing  of  the  breath ; that  should  be 
a triumphant  birth.  But  an  enormous  and  terror-stricken 
pity  was  evoked  by  sin,  and  the  thought  of  the  immortal 
soul  hanging  over  an  eternal  hell.  And  since  all  human 
actions  were  connected  with  the  man’s  eternal  lot,  they 
became  invested  with  a new  import.  So  the  Christian’s 
compassion  would  deepen,  his  sympathy  become  more 
intense,  although  no  longer  stirred  by  everything  that  had 
moved  his  pagan  self.  With  him  fear  was  raised  to  a new 
intensity  by  other  terrors  than  had  driven  the  blood  from 


356 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


pagan  cheeks.  His  sense  of  joy  was  deepened  also ; for 
a joy  hitherto  unrealized  came  from  his  new  love  of  God 
and  the  God-man,  from  the  assurance  of  his  salvation,  and 
the  thought  of  loved  human  relationships  never  to  end. 
So  Christian  joy  might  have  an  absoluteness  which  it 
never  had  under  the  pause-giving  mortal  limitations  of 
paganism. 

Within  the  compass  of  pagan  joyfulness  there  had  been 
no  deeper  passion  than  the  love  of  beauty.  That  had  its 
sensuous  phases,  and  its  far  blue  heights,  where  Plato  saw 
the  beauty  of  order,  justice,  and  proportion.  For  the 
Christian,  the  beauty  of  the  flesh  became  a veil  through 
which  he  looked  for  the  beauty  of  the  soul.  If  a face 
testified  to  the  beauty  of  holiness  within,  it  was  fair.  Better 
the  pale,  drawn  visages  of  monk  and  nun  than  the  red  lip 
too  quickly  smiling.  Feeling  as  well  as  thought  should  be 
adjusted  to  these  sentiments.  Yet  Plato’s  realization  of 
intellectual  beauty  found  home  within  the  Christian  thoughts 
of  God  and  holiness,  indeed  helped  to  construct  them. 
This  is  clear  with  the  Fathers.  In  the  East,  Gregory  of 
Nyssa’s  passion  for  divine  beauty  was  Platonism  set  in 
Christian  phrase ; in  the  West,  Augustine  reached  his 
thoughts  of  beauty  through  considerations  which  came  to  him 
from  Greek  philosophy.1  “Love  is  of  the  beautiful,”  said 
Plato;  “Do  we  love  ought  else?”  says  Augustine.  Both 
men  shape  their  thoughts  of  beauty  after  their  best  ideals  of 
perfection.  Augustine’s  burn  upward  to  the  beauty  of  a 
God  as  loving  as  He  is  omnipotent;  Plato’s  had  been  more 
abstract.  Augustine’s  Platonism  shows  the  highest  Greek 
thoughts  of  beauty  and  goodness  changed  into  attributes  of 
a personal  God,  who  could  be  loved  because  He  was  loving. 

In  these  ways  the  loftier  Christian  souls  suppressed,  or 
transformed  and  greatened,  the  emotions  of  their  natures. 
It  was  thus  with  those  possessed  of  a faith  that  brought 
the  whole  of  life  within  its  dominance.  There  were  many 
such.  Yet  the  multitude  of  Christians  ranged  downward 
from  such  great  obsession,  through  all  stages  of  human 
half-heartedness  and  frailty,  to  the  state  of  those  whose 
Christianity  was  but  a name,  or  but  a magic  rite.  Always 

1 Cf.  Classical  Heritage , p.  123  sqq. 


CHAP.  XV 


EMOTIONAL  DEVELOPMENT 


357 


preponderant  in  numbers,  and  often  in  influence  and  power, 
these  nominal  and  fetichistic  Christians  would  keep  alive 
the  loves  and  hates,  the  interests  and  tastes,  the  approvals 
and  disapprovals,  of  paganism  or  barbaric  heathenism,  as 
the  case  might  be. 


II 

The  patristic  synthesis  of  emotion  passed  on  entire  and 
authoritative  to  the  Middle  Ages.  It  exercised  enormous 
influence  (usually  in  the  way  of  compulsion,  but  sometimes 
in  the  way  of  repulsion)  upon  emotional  phenomena  both 
of  a religious  and  a secular  nature.  Yet  it  was  merely  the 
foundation,  or  the  first  stage,  of  mediaeval  emotional 
development.  The  subsequent  stages  were  dependent  on 
the  conditions  under  which  mediaeval  attitudes  of  mind 
arose,  very  dependent  upon  the  maturing  and  blending  of 
the  native  traits  of  inchoate  mediaeval  peoples  and  upon 
their  appropriation  of  Latin  Christianity  and  the  antique 
education. 

The  northern  races  had  been  introduced  to  a novel 
religion  and  to  modes  of  thought  considerably  above  them. 
Their  old  conceptions  were  discredited,  their  feelings  some- 
what distraught.  Emotionally  as  well  as  intellectually  they 
were  confused.  Turbid  feelings,  arising  from  ideas  not 
fully  mastered,  had  to  clarify  and  adjust  themselves.  From 
the  sixth  to  the  eleventh  century  the  crude  mediaeval 
stocks,  tangled  but  not  blended,  strange  to  the  religion  and 
culture  which  held  their  destinies,  were  not  possessed  of 
clear  and  dominant  emotions  that  could  create  their  own 
forms  of  expression.  They  could  not  think  and  feel  as 
they  would  when  their  new  acquirements  had  mellowed 
into  faculty  and  temperament,  and  unities  of  character  had 
once  more  emerged. 

Christianity  and  Latin  culture  were  operative  every- 
where, and  everywhere  tended  to  produce  a uniform 
development.  Yet  the  peoples  affected  by  these  common 
influences  were  kept  unlike  each  other  through  varieties  of 
environment  and  a diversity  of  racial  traits  which  still 
showed  clearly  as  the  centuries  passed.  In  consequence, 


358 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


the  emotional  development  of  these  different  peoples  re- 
mained marked  by  racial  characteristics,  while  also  becom- 
ing mediaeval  under  the  action  of  common  influences.  It 
proceeded  in  two  parallel  and  partially  mingling  streams : 
the  one  of  the  religious  life,  the  other  of  earth’s  desires. 
They  may  be  observed  in  turn. 

Augustine  represents  the  sum  of  doctrine  and  emotion 
contained  in  the  Latin  Christianity  of  the  fifth  century. 
However  imperfectly  others  might  comprehend  his  thought 
or  feel  the  power  of  his  grandly  reasoned  love  of  God,  he 
established  this  love  for  time  to  come  as  the  centre  and 
the  bound  of  Christian  righteousness:  “Virtus  non  est  nisi 
diligere  quod  diligendum  est.”  1 He  drew  within  this  prin- 
ciple the  array  of  dogma  and  precept  constituting  Latin 
Christianity.  On  the  other  hand,  the  practical  embodiment 
of  the  patristic  synthesis  of  human  interests  and  emotions 
was  monasticism,  with  its  lines  set  by  the  Rule  of  Benedict. 

Pope  Gregory  the  Great 2 refashioned  Augustine’s 
teachings,  and  placed  the  seal  of  his  approval  upon 
Benedictine  monasticism  as  the  perfect  way  of  Christian 
living.  His  mind  was  darkened  with  the  new  ignorance 
and  intellectual  debasement  which  had  come  in  the  century 
and  a half  separating  him  from  Augustine ; and  his  soul 
was  filled  with  the  fantastic  terrors  which  were  to  constitute 
so  large  a part  of  the  religion  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Devil 
lore,  relic  worship,  miracles,  permeate  his  consciousness  of 
life.  The  soul’s  ceaseless  business  is  so  to  keep  itself 
that  it  may  at  last  escape  the  sentence  of  the  awful  Judge. 
Love  and  terror  struggle  fearfully  in  Gregory.  Christ’s 
death  had  shown  God’s  love ; and  yet  the  Dies  Irae 
impends.  No  delict  is  wiped  out  without  penitence  and 
punishment,  in  this  life  or  afterwards — let  it  be  in  Purgatory 
and  not  in  Hell ! 

The  centuries  following  Gregory’s  death  rearranged  the 
contents  of  Latin  Christianity,  including  Gregory’s  teach- 
ings, to  suit  their  own  intellectual  capacities.  This  (Caro- 
lingian)  period  of  rearrangement  and  painful  learning,  as  it 
was  unoriginative  intellectually,  was  likewise  unproductive 
of  Christian  emotion.  Occasionally  from  far-off  converts, 

1 Augustine,  Epp.  155,  c.  13.  2 Ante,  Chapter  V. 


CHAP.  XV 


EMOTIONAL  DEVELOPMENT 


359 


who  are  not  troubled  overmuch  with  learning,  come  utterances 
of  simple  feeling  for  the  Faith  (one  thinks  of  Bede’s  story  of 
Caedmon) ; and  the  Teuton  spirit,  warlike  as  well  as  intimate 
and  sentimental,  enters  the  vernacular  interpretation  of 
Christianity.1  The  Christian  message  could  not  be  under- 
stood at  all  without  a stirring  of  the  convert’s  nature : some 
quickening  of  emotion  would  ensue.  This  did  not  imply  a 
development  of  emotion  corresponding  to  the  credences  of 
Latin  Christianity,  to  which  so  many  people  had  been  newly 
introduced.  That  system  had  to  be  more  vitally  appropriated 
before  it  could  arouse  the  emotional  counterpart  of  its  tenets, 
and  run  its  course  in  modes  of  mediaeval  religious  passion. 

Accordingly  one  will  look  in  vain  among  the  Carolingian 
scholars  for  that  torrential  feeling  which  becomes  articulate 
in  the  eleventh  century.  They  were  excerpting  and  re- 
arranging patristic  Christianity  to  suit  their  own  capacities. 
They  could  not  use  it  as  a basis  for  further  thinking ; 
nor,  on  the  other  hand,  had  it  become  for  them  the  ground 
of  religious  feeling.  Undoubtedly,  Alcuin  and  Rabanus 
Maurus  and  Walafrid  Strabo  were  pious  Christians,  taking 
their  Faith  devoutly.  But  such  religious  emotion  as  was 
theirs,  was  reflected  rather  than  spontaneous.  Alcuin,  as 
well  as  Gregory  the  Great,  realizes  the  opposition  between 
heaven  and  the  vana  delectibilia 2 of  this  world.  But 
Alcuin’s  words  have  lost  the  horror-stricken  quality  of 
Gregory;  neither  do  they  carry  the  floods  of  tears  which 
like  thoughts  bring  to  Peter  Damiani  in  the  eleventh 
century.  Odo,  Abbot  of  Cluny  in  the  middle  of  the  tenth 
century,  has  something  of  Gregory’s  heavy  horror ; but  even 
in  him  the  gift  of  tears  is  not  yet  loosed.3 

From  the  eleventh  century  onward,  the  gathering  reli- 
gious feeling  pours  itself  out  in  passionate  utterances ; and 
in  this  new  emotionalizing  of  Latin  Christianity  lay  the 
chief  religious  office  of  the  Middle  Ages,  wherein  they  went 
far  beyond  the  patristic  authors  of  their  faith.  The  Fathers 
of  the  Latin  Church  from  Tertullian  to  Gregory  the  Great  had 
been  occupied  with  doctrine  and  ecclesiastical  organization. 

1 Ante,  Chapter  IX. 

2 Alcuin,  Ep.  40  (Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  ioo,  col.  201). 

3 Cf.  Odo’s  Collationes,  in  Migne  133,  and  Chapter  XII.  11.,  ante.  Gregory 
was  Odo’s  favourite  author. 


3<5° 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


This  dual  achievement  was  the  work  of  the  constructive 
mind  of  the  Latin  West,  following,  of  course,  what  had  been 
accomplished  by  the  Greek  Fathers.  It  stood  forth  mainly 
as  the  creation  of  those  human  faculties  which  are  grouped 
under  the  name  of  intellect.  Patristic  Latin  Christianity 
hardly  presents  itself  as  the  product  of  the  whole  man.  Its 
principles  were  not  as  yet  fully  humanized,  made  matter  of 
the  heart,  and  imbued  with  love  and  fear  and  pity  : this 
creature  of  the  intellect  had  yet  to  receive  a soul. 

It  is  true  that  Augustine  had  an  enormous  love  of  God. 
It  was  fervently  felt ; it  was  powerfully  reasoned ; it 
impassioned  his  thought.  Yet  it  did  not  contain  that 
tender  love  of  the  divinely  human  Christ  which  trembles 
in  the  words  of  Bernard  and  makes  the  life  of  Francis  a 
lyric  poem.  St.  Jerome  also  had  even  an  hysterically 
emotional  nature ; Tertullian  at  the  beginning  of  the 
patristic  period  was  no  placid  soul,  nor  Gregory  the  Great 
at  its  close.  But  it  does  not  follow  that  Latin  Christianity 
was  as  yet  emotionalized,  or  that  it  had  become  a matter  of 
the  heart  because  it  was  accepted  by  the  mind.  Its  dogmas 
and  constructive  principles  were  still  too  new ; the  energies 
of  men  had  been  spent  in  devising  and  establishing  them. 
Not  yet  had  they  been  pondered  over  for  generation  after 
generation,  and  hallowed  through  time;  they  had  not  yet 
become  part  of  human  life,  cherished  in  men’s  hopes,  fondled 
in  their  affections,  frozen  in  their  fears,  trembled  before 
and  loved. 

What  was  absent  from  the  formation  of  Latin  Christianity 
constituted  the  conditions  of  its  gradual  appropriation  by 
the  Middle  Ages.  It  had  come  to  them  from  a greater 
past,  sanctioned  by  the  saints  who  now  reigned  above. 
Through  the  centuries,  men  had  come  to  understand  it,  and 
had  made  it  their  own  with  power.  Through  generations 
its  commands  and  promises,  its  threats  and  rewards,  had 
been  feared  and  loved.  Its  persons,  symbols,  and  sacraments 
had  become  animate  with  human  quality  and  were  endeared 
with  intimate  incident  and  association.  Every  one  had  been 
born  to  it,  had  been  suckled  upon  it,  had  adored  it  in  child- 
hood, youth,  and  age : it  filled  all  life ; with  hope  or  menace 
it  overhung  the  closing  hour. 


CHAP.  XV 


EMOTIONAL  DEVELOPMENT 


361 


The  Middle  Ages  have  been  given  credit  for  dry 
theologies  and  sublimated  metaphysics.  Less  frequently 
have  they  been  credited  with  their  great  achievement,  the 
imbuing  of  patristic  Christianity  with  the  human  elements 
of  love  and  fear  and  pity.  Yet  their  religious  phenomena 
clearly  display  this  emotionalizing  of  transmitted  theological 
elements.  Chapters  which  are  to  follow  will  illustrate  it 
from  the  lives  of  many  saints  of  different  temperaments.  As 
wide  apart  as  life  will  be  the  phases  of  its  manifestations. 
The  tears  of  Peter  Damiani  are  not  like  the  love  of  the 
God-man  in  St.  Bernard ; St.  Francis’s  love  of  Christ  and 
love  of  man  is  again  different  and  new ; and  the  mystic 
thought-shot  visions  of  a Hildegard  of  Bingen  are  as  blue 
to  crimson  when  compared  with  the  sense-passion  for  the 
Bridegroom  of  a Mechthild  of  Magdeburg.  Even  as  illus- 
trated in  these  so  different  natures,  it  will  still  appear  that 
the  emotional  humanizing  of  Latin  Christianity  in  the 
Middle  Ages  shaped  itself  to  the  tenets  of  the  system 
formulated  by  the  Church  Fathers.  It  was  an  emotionalizing 
of  that  system,  quite  as  much  as  a direct  appropriation  of 
the  Gospel-heart  of  Christ.  Christ  and  the  heart  of  Christ 
were  with  the  mediaeval  saints ; and  yet  the  emotions  as 
well  as  thoughts  through  which  they  turned  to  Him  received 
their  form  from  patristic  Christianity. 

Religious  art  plainly  tells  the  story.  Let  one  call  to 
mind  the  character  of  its  achievements  in  the  fourth,  fifth, 
and  sixth  centuries.  That  was  the  period  following  the 
recognition  of  Christianity  as  the  religion  of  the  Roman 
Empire.  Everywhere  basilicas  arose.1  Some  of  them  may 
be  seen  in  Rome,  in  Ravenna,  in  Constantinople.  They 
still  contain  many  of  the  mural  mosaics  which  were  their 
glory.  Numberless  artists  laboured  in  the  composition  of 
those  stately  church  decorations.  There  was  a need,  un- 
precedented and  never  afterwards  paralleled,  of  creative 
composition.  Spacious  surfaces  were  to  be  covered  with 
prefigurative  scenes  from  the  Old  Testament,  with  scenes 
from  the  life  of  Christ  on  earth,  and  representations  of  His 

1 Before  Constantine’s  reign  there  had  been  few  Christian  basilicas;  Christian 
art  was  sepulchral,  drawing  upon  the  galleries  of  the  Catacombs,  in  meagre  and 
monotonous  designs,  the  symbols  of  the  soul’s  deliverance  from  death.  These  designs 
were  antique  in  style  and  poor  in  execution. 


36  2 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  II 


apocalyptic  triumph  in  the  Resurrection.  They  had  all  to 
be  composed  without  aid  from  previous  designs,  for  there 
were  none.  The  artists  had  need  to  be  as  constructive  as 
the  Church  Fathers,  who  through  the  same  period  were 
perfecting  the  formulation  of  the  Faith.  They  succeeded 
grandly,  setting  forth  the  subjects  they  were  told  to  execute, 
in  noble,  balanced,  and  decorative  compositions,  which 
presented  the  facts  and  tenets  of  the  Faith  strikingly  and 
correctly.  Stylistically,  these  great  church  mosaics  belonged 
to  antique  art.  What  did  they  lack?  Merely  the  human, 
veritably  tragic,  qualities  of  love  and  fear  and  pity,  which 
had  not  yet  come.  Like  the  dogmatic  system,  this  mosaic 
presentation  was  too  recently  composed.  Its  subjects  were 
not  yet  humanized  through  centuries  of  contemplation, 
reverence,  and  love.1 

Many  of  the  early  compositions,  repeated  from  century 
to  century,  in  time  were  humanized  and  transformed  with 
feeling.  But  this  was  not  in  the  seventh,  eighth,  and  ninth 
centuries,  wrhen  art  was  but  a decadent  and  barbarized 
survival  of  the  antique  Christian  manner,  nor  in  the  tenth 
and  eleventh.  One  may  note  also  that  the  mediaeval 
expression  of  Christian  emotion  was  beginning  in  religious 
literature.  This  came  with  fulness  in  the  twelfth  century, 
and  along  with  it  the  emotionalizing,  the  veritable  human- 
izing, of  religious  art  began.  Yet  the  artists  of  western 
Europe  still  lacked  the  skill  requisite  for  delicate  execution. 
A marked  advance  came  in  the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth 
centuries.  That  was  the  great  period  of  Gothic  architecture ; 
and  in  the  sculpture  on  the  French  cathedrals,  stone  seems 
to  live  and  feel.  The  prophetic  figures  from  the  Old 
Testament,  the  scenes  of  man’s  redemption  and  final 
judgment,  are  humanized  with  love  and  terror.  Moreover, 
the  sculptor  surrounds  them  with  the  myriad  subsidiary 
detail  of  mortal  life  and  changing  beauty,  showing  how 
closely  they  are  knit  to  every  human  love  and  interest. 

In  Italy  a like  story  is  told  in  a different  manner.  There 
is  sculpture,  but  there  also  is  mosaic,  and  above  all  there  is 
and  will  be  fresco.  Before  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century, 
Giotto  was  busy  with  his  new  dramatic  art;  no  need  to  tell 

1 See  Taylor,  Classical  Heritage,  chap.  x.  sec.  2. 


CHAP.  XV 


EMOTIONAL  DEVELOPMENT 


363 


what  power  of  human  feeling  filled  the  works  of  that  chief 
of  painters  and  his  school.  The  hard  materials  of  the 
mosaicist  were  also  made  to  render  emotion.  If  one  will 
note  the  mosaics  along  the  nave  in  Santa  Maria  Maggiore, 
belonging  to  the  fifth  century,  and  then  turn  to  the  mosaics 
of  the  Coronation  of  the  Virgin  in  the  apse,  or  cross  the 
Tiber  and  look  at  those  in  the  lower  zone  of  the  apse  of 
Santa  Maria  in  Trastevere,  which  tell  the  Virgin’s  story,  he 
will  see  the  change  which  was  bringing  love  and  sweetness 
into  the  stiff  mosaic  medium.  Torriti  executed  the  former 
in  1295 ; and  the  latter  with  their  gentler  feeling  were  made 
by  Giotto’s  pupil,  Cavallini,  in  1351.  The  art  is  still  as 
correct  and  true  and  orthodox  as  in  the  fifth  century.  It 
conforms  to  Latin  Christianity  in  the  choice  of  topics  and 
the  manner  of  presenting  them,  and  drapes  its  human 
emotions  around  conceptions  which  the  patristic  period 
formed  and  delivered  to  the  Middle  Ages.  Thus,  in  full 
measure,  it  has  taken  to  itself  the  emotional  qualities  of  the 
mediaeval  transformation  of  Latin  Christianity,  and  is  filled 
with  a love  and  tears  and  pity,  which  were  not  in  the  old 
Christian  mosaics. 

Quite  analogous  to  the  emotionalizing  of  Christian  art 
is  the  example  afforded  by  the  evolution  of  the  Latin  hymn. 
The  earliest  extant  Latin  hymns  are  those  of  St.  Ambrose, 
written  in  iambic  dimeters.  Antique  in  phrase  as  in  metre, 
they  are  also  trenchantly  correct  in  doctrine,  as  behoved 
the  compositions  of  the  great  Archbishop  of  Milan  who 
commanded  the  forces  of  orthodoxy  in  the  Arian  conflict. 
They  were  sung  in  anxious  seasons.  Yet  these  dignified 
and  noble  hymns  are  no  emotional  outpour  either  of  anxiety 
or  adoration.  Such  feeling  as  they  carry  lies  in  their  strength 
of  trust  in  God  and  in  the  power  of  conviction  of  their  stately 
orthodoxy. 

Between  the  death  of  Ambrose  and  the  tenth  century, 
Latin  hymns  gradually  substituted  accent  in  the  place 
of  metrical  quantity,  as  the  dominant  principle  of  their 
rhythm.  With  this  partial  change  there  seems  to  come 
increase  of  feeling.  The 

“Jesu  nostra  redemptio, 

Amor  et  desiderium,” 


BOOK  II 


364  THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 

of  the  seventh  century  is  different  from  the 

“Te  diligat  castus  amor, 

Te  mens  adoret  sobria” 

of  Ambrose.1  And  the  famous  pilgrim  chant  of  the  tenth 
century,  “O  Roma  nobilis,  orbis  et  domina,”  has  the  strength 
of  long-deepening  emotion.2 

These  hymns  have  but  dropped  the  constraint  of  metre. 
Religious  passion  had  not  yet  proved  its  creative  power,  and 
the  new  verse-forms  with  their  mighty  rhyme,  fit  to  voice  the 
accumulated  emotions  of  the  Liturgy,  were  not  in  existence. 
The  eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries  witnessed  the  strophic 
evolution  of  the  Latin  hymn,  in  which  feeling,  joined  with 
art,  at  last  perfected  line  and  stanza  and  the  passionate 
phrases  filling  them.3  Yet  nothing  could  be  more  orthodox 
than  the  Latin  hymn  throughout  its  course  of  development. 
Its  function  was  liturgical.  It  was  correct  in  doctrinal 
expressions,  and  followed  in  every  way  the  authoritative 
teachings  of  the  Church ; its  symbolism  was  derived  from 
the  works  of  learned  doctors ; and  its  feeling  took  form 
from  the  tenets  of  Latin  Christianity.  The  Dies  Irae  and  the 
Stabat  Mater  yield  evidence  of  this.4 

From  the  religious  phases  of  mediaeval  emotion,  one 
may  pass  to  modes  of  feeling  which  were  secular  and  human. 
The  antecedents  were  again  the  racial  traits  of  the  peoples 
who  were  to  become  mediaeval ; the  formative  influences  still 
are  Christianity  and  the  profane  antique  culture.  The  racial 
traits  show  clearest  in  vernacular  compositions,  some  of 
which  may  carry  fervent  feeling,  such  as  enkindles  the 
Crusader’s  song  of  Hartmann  von  Aue: 

1 See  Classical  Heritage,  p.  267,  and  cf.  ibid.  chap.  ix.  sec.  1. 

2 See  post,  Chapter  XXXIII.  11. 

3 The  account  of  the  evolution  of  the  hymn  from  the  prose  sequence  is  given 
Post,  Chapter  XXXIII.  111. 

4 Further  illustrations  of  the  mediaeval  emotionalizing  of  Latin  Christianity 
could  be  made  from  the  history  of  certain  Christian  conceptions,  angels  for  example: 
— the  Old  and  New  Testaments  and  the  Apocrypha  contain  the  revelation  of  their 
functions;  next,  their  natures  are  defined  in  the  works  of  the  Fathers  and  the 
Celestial  Hierarchy  of  Pseudo-Dionysius  the  Areopagite.  The  matter  is  gone  over 
at  great  length,  and  their  nature  and  functions  logically  perfected,  by  the  schoolmen 
of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries.  But,  all  the  while,  religious  feeling,  popular 
credences,  and  the  imagination  of  poet  and  artist  went  on  investing  with  beauty  and 
loveliness  these  guardian  spirits  who  carried  out  God’s  care  of  man.  Thus  angels 
became  the  realities  they  were  felt  to  be. 


chap,  xv  EMOTIONAL  DEVELOPMENT  365 

“Min  froude  wart  nie  sorgelos 
Unz  an  die  tage 

Daz  ich  mir  Kristes  bluomen  kos 
Die  ich  hie  trage. 

Die  kundent  eine  sumerzit, 

Die  also  gar 

In  suezer  augenweide  lit ; 

Got  helfe  uns  dar. 

“Mich  hat  diu  werlt  also  gewent  (gewohnt), 

Daz  mir  der  muot 
Sich  z’einer  maze  nach  ir  sent : 

Dest  mir  nu  guot. 

Got  hat  vil  wol  ze  mir  get  an, 

Als  ez  nu  stat, 

Daz  ich  der  sorgen  bin  erlan 
Diu  manegen  hat 
Gebunden  an  den  fuoz, 

Daz  er  beliben  muoz 
Swenn’  ich  in  Kristes  schar 

Mit  frouden  wiinneclichen  var.”  1 

The  secular  emotional  development  was  connected  with 
the  religious.  It  was  stimulated  by  the  deepening  of 
emotional  capacity  caused  by  Christianity,  and  was  not 
unrelated  to  the  Christian  love  of  God,  the  place  of  which 
was  taken,  in  secular  mediaeval  passion,  by  an  idealizing, 
but  carnal,  love  of  woman ; and  instead  of  the  terror- 
stricken  piety  which  accompanied  the  Christian’s  love  for 
his  Maker  and  his  Judge,  the  heart  was  glad  and  the  temper 
open  to  every  joy,  while  also  subject  to  the  fears  and  hates 
which  spring  up  among  men  of  mortal  passions. 


1 Hartmann  belongs  to  that  great  group  of  courtly  German  poets  whose  lives 
surround  the  year  1200.  He  was  the  translator  of  Chretien  de  Troye’s  Erec  and  I vain. 
See  Bech’s  Hartmann  von  Aue  (Deutsche  Klassiker).  The  verses  quoted  can  hardly 
be  rendered ; but  the  meaning  is  as  follows : 

“My  joys  were  never  free  from  care  until  the  day  which  showed  me  the  flowers 
of  Christ  which  I wear  here  (i.e.  the  Crusader’s  cross).  They  herald  a summer-time 
leading  to  sweet  pastures  of  delight.  God  help  us  thither!  The  world  has  treated 
me  so  that  my  spirit  yearns  therefor; — well  for  me!  God  has  been  good  to  me,  so 
that  I am  released  from  cares  which  tie  the  feet  of  many,  chaining  them  here,  while 
I in  Christ’s  band  with  blissful  joys  fare  on.” 

These  lines  carry  that  same  yearning  of  the  simple  soul  for  heaven,  its  home, 
which  was  expressed,  some  centuries  before,  in  Otfried’s  Evangelienbuch  (ante, 
Chapter  IX.).  The  words  and  their  connotations  (augenweide,  wiinneclich)  are 
utterly  German.  Yet  the  author  lived  in  a literary  atmosphere  of  translation  from 
the  French. 


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In  the  romantic  and  utter  abandonment  required  of  its 
votaries,  this  earthly  love  may  well  have  drawn  suggestion 
from  that  boundless  love  of  God  which  had  superseded  the 
Greek  precept  of  “ nothing  in  excess/’  teaching  instead  that 
no  limit  should  be  set  on  what  was  absolutely  good.  The 
principle  of  love  unrestrained  was  thus  inaugurated,  and  did 
not  always  turn  to  God.  Ardent  natures  who  felt  love’s 
power,  might  hold  it  as  the  supreme  arbiter  and  law  of  life, 
and  the  giver  of  strength  and  virtue.  These  thoughts  will 
shape  the  tale  of  Lancelot  and  myriad  poems  besides.  They 
also  may  be  found  incarnate  in  the  living  instance : the 
heart  of  Heloise  held  a passion  for  her  human  master  which 
she  recognized  as  her  highest  law.  It  was  such  a passion  as 
she  would  hardly  have  conceived  but  for  the  existence  of 
like  categories  of  devotion  to  the  Christian  God.  Not  in 
her  nature  alone,  but  through  many  Christian  generations 
whereof  she  was  the  fruit,  there  had  gone  on  a continual 
enhancement  of  capacities  of  feeling,  for  which  she  was  a 
greater  woman  when  she  grew  to  womanhood  and  felt  its 
passion.  Through  such  heightening  of  her  powers  of  loving, 
and  through  the  suggestiveness  of  the  Christian  love  of  God, 
she  could  conceive  and  feel  a like  absolute  devotion  to  a 
man.1 

There  were,  moreover,  partially  humanized  stages  in 
which  the  love  of  God  was  affiliated  with  loves  of  mortal 
hue.  Many  a mediaeval  woman  felt  a passionate  love  for 
the  spiritual  Bridegroom.  Its  expression,  its  suggestions,  its 
training,  might  transmit  power  and  passion  to  the  love  of 
very  mortal  men : while  from  the  worship  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin  expressions  of  passionate  devotion  might  pass  over 
into  poems  telling  man’s  love  of  woman.  And  what  reaches 
of  passion  might  not  the  Song  of  Songs  suggest,  although 
that  imagined  bridal  of  the  Soul  was  never  deemed  a song 
of  human  love  ? 2 

1 Post,  Chapter  XXVI. 

2 The  makers  of  love  poems  borrowed  expressions  from  poems  to  the  Virgin. 
Cf.  Wilmanns,  Leben  und  Dichtung  Walter's  Von  der  Vogelweide,  p.  179.  Touches 
of  mortal  passion  sometimes  appear  in  the  adoration  of  men  for  the  Blessed 
Virgin.  See  Caesar  of  Eeisterbach,  vii.  32  and  50,  and  viii.  58.  Of  course,  many 
suggestions  were  drawn  also  from  the  antique  literature.  See  post,  Chapter 
XXXIII.  iv.  The  subject  of  courtly  and  romantic  love  will  come  up  properly  for 
treatment  in  Chapter  XXIV. 


BOOK  III 

THE  IDEAL  AND  THE  ACTUAL 
THE  SAINTS 


367 


CHAPTER  XVI 


THE  REFORMS  OF  MONASTICISM 

Mediaeval  Extremes  ; Benedict  oe  Aniane  ; Cluny  ; Citeaux’s 
Cflarta  Charitatis;  The  Vita  Contemplativa  accepts  the 
Vita  Activa. 

The  present  book  and  the  following  will  set  forth  the 
higher  manifestations  of  the  religious  energies  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  and  then  the  counter  ideals  which  knights  and  ladies 
delighted  to  contemplate,  and  sometimes  strove  to  reach. 
In  religious  as  well  as  mundane  life,  ideals  admired  and 
striven  for  constitute  human  facts,  make  part  of  the  human 
story,  quite  as  veritably  as  the  spotted  actuality  everywhere 
in  evidence.  The  tale  of  piety  is  to  be  gathered  from  those 
efforts  of  the  religious  purpose  which  almost  attain  their 
ideal ; while  as  a comment  on  them,  and  a foil  and  contrast, 
the  deflections  of  human  frailty  may  be  observed.  Likewise 
the  full  reality  of  chivalry  lies  in  its  ideals,  supplemented  by 
the  illuminating  contrast  of  failure  and  oppression,  making 
what  we  may  call  its  actuality.  The  emotional  element, 
reviewed  in  the  last  chapter,  will  for  the  time  be  dominant. 

Practice  always  drops  below  the  ethical  standards  of  a 
period.  The  contrast  appears  in  the  history  of  Greece  and 
Rome.  Yet  in  neither  Greece  nor  Rome  could  there  exist 
the  abysms  of  contradiction  which  disclose  themselves  after 
the  conversion  of  western  Europe  to  the  religion  of  Christ. 

And  for  the  following  reasons.  Greek  and  Roman  stand- 
ards were  finite ; they  regarded  only  the  mortal  happiness 
of  the  individual  and  the  terrestrial  welfare  of  the  State. 
To  Greek  thought  the  indefinite  or  limitless  was  as  the 
vol.  i 369  2 B 


370 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


monstrous  and  unformed,  and  therefore  abhorrent  to  the 
classic  ideals  of  perfection.  Again,  Greek  and  Roman 
standards  demanded  only  what  Greek  and  Roman  humanity 
could  fulfil  in  the  mortal  life  of  earth.  But  the  Christian 
ideal  of  conduct  assumes  the  universal  imperfection  and 
infinite  perfectibility  of  man.  It  has  constant  regard  to 
immortality,  and  eternity  is  needed  for  its  fulfilment. 
Moreover,  whether  or  not  Christ’s  Gospel  set  forth  any 
inherent  antagonism  between  the  fulness  of  mortal  life  and 
the  sure  attainment  of  heaven,  its  historical  interpretations 
have  never  effected  a complete  reconcilement.  They  have 
always  presented  a conflict  between  the  finite  and  the 
eternal,  unconceived  and  unsuspected  by  the  pagan  ethics 
of  Greece  and  Rome. 

This  conflict  dawned  in  the  Apostolic  Age.  During  the 
patristic  period  it  worked  itself  out  to  a formulated  opposi- 
tion between  the  world  and  the  City  of  God.  Of  this, 
monasticism  was  the  chief  expression.  Nevertheless,  pagan 
principle  and  feeling  lived  on  in  the  reasonings  and  characters 
of  the  Church  Fathers.  The  Roman  qualities  in  Ambrose, 
the  general  survival  of  antique  greatness  in  Augustine, 
preserved  them  from  the  rhetorical  hysteria  of  Jerome  and 
the  exaggeration  of  phrase  which  affects  the  writings  of 
Gregory  the  Great.1  With  the  decadence  preceding,  and 
the  confusion  following,  the  Carolingian  period,  antique 
qualities  passed  away ; and  when  men  began  again  to  think 
and  feel  constructively,  there  remained  no  antique  poise  to 
restrain  the  strife  of  those  mighty  opposites — the  joys  of  life 
and  the  terrors  of  the  Judgment  Day. 

This  conflict,  inherent  in  mediaeval  Christianity,  was  in 
part  a struggle  between  temporal  desires  which  many  men 
approved,  and  their  renunciation  for  eternal  joy.  From  this 
point  of  view  it  was  a conflict  of  ideals,  though,  to  be  sure, 
life’s  common  cravings  were  on  one  side,  and  often  unideally 
turned  the  scale.  We  are  not  immediately  concerned,  how- 
ever, with  this  conflict  of  ideals ; but  with  the  contrasts 


1 One  will  bear  in  mind  that  much  mediaeval  phraseology  goes  back  to  the 
Fathers.  For  example,  in  monkish  vilification  of  woman  there  is  no  phrase 
more  common  than  janua  diaboli,  and  it  was  Tertullian’s,  who  died  in  the  first  part 
of  the  third  century. 


chap,  xvi  REFORMS  OF  MONASTICISM 


37i 


presented  between  the  actual  and  the  ideal,  between  conduct 
and  the  principles  which  should  have  controlled  it.  The 
opposition  between  this  life  and  eternity  is  mentioned  in 
order  to  make  clear  the  tremendous  demands  of  the  Christian 
ethical  ideal,  and  the  unlikelihood  of  its  fulfilment  by 
mediaeval  humanity.  So  one  may  perceive  a reason  why 
the  Middle  Ages  were  to  show  such  extremes  of  contrast 
between  principles  and  practices.  The  standards  recognized 
as  holiest  countered  the  natural  lives  of  men ; and  for  that 
reason  could  be  lived  up  to  only  under  transient  spiritual 
enthusiasm  or  by  exceptional  people.  Monasticism  held 
the  highest  ideals  of  Christian  living,  and  its  story  illustrates 
the  continual  falling  away  of  conduct  from  the  recognized 
ideal. 

Without  regard  to  the  contrast  between  the  ideal  and 
the  actual,  the  Middle  Ages  were  a period  of  extremes — of 
extreme  humility  and  love  as  well  as  cruelty  and  hate. 
Such  extremes  may  be  traceable  to  a certain  unlimited 
quality  in  Christian  principles,  according  to  which  no  man 
could  have  too  much  humility  or  Christian  love,  or  could 
too  strenuously  combat  the  enemies  of  Christ.  To  be 
sure,  an  all-proportioning  principle  of  conduct  lay  in  man’s 
love  of  God,  answering  to  God’s  love  which  encompassed 
all  His  creatures.  But  such  proportionment  is  difficult  for 
simple  minds,  and  many  of  the  extremes  which  meet  us 
in  the  Middle  Ages  were  directly  due  to  the  simplicity 
with  which  mediaeval  men  and  women  carried  out  such 
Christian  precepts  as  they  were  taken  with,  in  disregard 
of  all  else  that  commonly  balances  and  conventionalizes 
human  lives. 

For  this  reason  also  the  Middle  Ages  are  picturesque 
and  poetic.  Nothing  could  be  more  picturesque  and  more 
like  a poem  than  the  simple  absoluteness  with  which  St. 
Francis  interpreted  and  lived  out  his  Lord’s  principle  of 
love,  and  made  universal  application  of  his  Lord’s  injunc- 
tion to  the  rich  young  man,  to  go  and  sell  his  goods  and 
give  to  the  poor,  and  then  come  follow  Him.  This  particu- 
lar solution  of  the  problem  of  God’s  service  was  taken  by 
Francis,  and  by  many  another,  as  of  general  application,  and 
was  literally  carried  out;  just  as  Francis  with  exquisite 


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THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


simplicity  carried  out  other  precepts  of  his  Lord  in  a way 
that  would  be  foolishness  were  it  not  so  beautiful. 

There  was  no  contrast  between  conduct  and  principle 
in  the  life  of  Francis;  and  in  other  men  conduct  might 
agree  with  such  principles  as  they  understood.  Many  a 
rustic  layman,  many  a good  knight,  fulfilled  the  standards 
of  his  calling.  Many  a parish  priest  did  his  whole  duty,  as 
he  conceived  it.  And  many  a monk  and  nun  lived  up  to 
their  monastic  regula , if  indeed  never  satisfying  the  inner 
yearning  of  the  soul  unquenchably  striving  for  perfection. 
Indeed,  for  the  monk  ever  to  have  been  satisfied  with  him- 
self would  have  meant  a fall  from  humility  to  vainglory. 

The  precepts  of  the  Gospel  were  for  every  man  and 
woman.  Nevertheless,  the  same  rules  of  living  did  not 
apply  to  all.  In  this  regard,  mediaeval  society  falls  into 
the  two  general  divisions  of  clergy  and  laity,  meaning  by 
the  former  all  persons  making  special  profession  of  religion 
or  engaged  in  the  services  of  the  Church.1  This  would 
include  anchorites  and  monks  (also  the  conversi 2 or  lay- 
brethren)  and  the  secular  clergy  from  the  rank  of  bishop 
downward.  To  such  (excepting  seculars  below  the  grade 
of  sub-deacon)  the  rule  of  celibacy  applied,  as  well  as  other 
ascetic  precepts  dependent  on  the  vows  they  had  taken  or 
the  regulations  under  which  they  lived.  Conversely,  certain 
rules  like  those  relating  to  the  conduct  of  man  and  wife 
would  touch  the  laity  alone. 

A general  similarity  of  principle  pervaded  the  rules  of 
conduct  applying  to  all  orders  of  the  clergy,  secular  and 
regular.3  Yet  there  was  a difference  in  the  severity  of  the 
rules  and  the  stringency  of  their  application.  The  mediaeval 
code  of  religious  ethics  applied  in  its  utter  strenuousness 
only  to  monks  and  nuns.  They  alone  had  seriously  under- 
taken to  obey  the  Gospel  precept,  estote  perfecti;  and  they 
alone  could  be  regarded  as  living  the  life  of  complete 
Christian  militancy  against  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the 
devil.  The  trials,  that  is  to  say  the  temptations,  of  this 

1 For  the  different  meanings  of  the  term  clericus  see  Du  Cange,  Glossarium, 
under  that  word. 

2 For  the  meanings  of  this  term  also  see  Du  Cange,  Glossarium,  under  that 
word. 

3 Regular  clergy  are  the  monks,  who  live  under  a regula. 


chap,  xvi  REFORMS  OF  MONASTICISM 


373 


warfare  could  be  fully  known  only  to  the  monk.  “Tentatio,” 
says  Caesar  of  Heisterbach,  “est  militia/’  i.e.  warfare;  it  is 
possible  only  for  those  who  live  humanly  and  rationally, 
after  the  spirit,  which  is  to  say,  as  monks;  “the  seculars 
{i.e.  the  laity  or  possibly  the  clergy  who  were  not  monks)  and 
the  carnal  {i.e.  the  laity)  who  walk  according  to  the  flesh,  are 
improperly  said  to  be  tempted ; for  as  soon  as  they  feel 
the  temptation  they  consent,  or  resist  lukewarmly,  like  the 
horse  and  the  mule  who  have  no  understanding.”  1 

We  have  spoken  of  the  inception  of  monasticism,  and 
of  its  early  motives,2  which  included  the  fear  of  hell,  the 
love  of  Christ,  and  the  conviction  of  the  antagonism  between 
pleasure  and  that  service  which  opens  heaven’s  gates.  Such 
sentiments  were  likely  to  develop  and  expand.  The  fear 
of  hell  might  be  inflamed  and  made  visible  by  the  same 
imagination  that  festered  over  the  carnality  of  pleasure; 
the  heart  could  impassion  and  extend  the  love  of  Christ 
through  humanity’s  full  capacity  for  loving  what  was  holiest 
and  most  lovable;  and  the  mind  could  attain  to  an  over- 
mastering conviction  of  the  incompatibility  of  pleasure  with 
absolute  devotion.  Through  the  Middle  Ages  these  motives 
developed  and  grew  together,  until  they  made  a mode  of 
life,  and  fashioned  human  characters  into  accord  with  it. 
Century  after  century  the  lives  of  thousands  fulfilled  the 
monastic  spirit,  and  often  so  perfectly  as  to  belie  humanity’s 
repute  for  frailty.  Their  virtues  shunned  encomium. 
Record  was  made  of  those  whose  mind  and  energy  organized 
and  wrought,  or  whose  piety  and  love  of  God  burned  so 
hotly  that  others  were  enkindled.  But  legion  upon  legion 
of  tacit  lives  are  registered  only  in  the  Book  with  seven 
seals. 

Monastic  abuses  have  usually  spoken  more  loudly  than 
monastic  regularity.  In  Christian  monasticism  there  is  an 
energy  of  renovation  which  constantly  cries  against  corrup- 
tion. Its  invective  reaches  us  from  all  the  mediaeval 
centuries;  while  monastic  regularity  has  more  commonly 
been  unreported.  It  is  well  to  bear  this  in  mind  when 

1 Dialogus  miraculorum,  ed.  J.  Strange,  iv.  i.  (Cologne,  1851).  Of  course  Caesar 
was  a monk. 

2 Ante,  Chapter  XV. 


374 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


reading  of  monastic  vice.  It  always  existed,  and  judging 
from  the  fiery  denunciations  which  it  awakened,  it  was 
often  widely  prevalent.  In  fact,  the  monastic  life  required 
such  love  of  God  or  fear  of  hell,  such  renunciation  of  this 
world,  its  ambitions,  its  lusts  and  its  lures,  that  monks 
were  likely  to  fall  below  the  prescribed  standards,  and  then 
quickly  into  all  manner  of  sin,  from  lack  of  the  restraints, 
or  outlets,  of  secular  life. 

Consequently  the  most  patent  history  of  monasticism 
is  the  history  of  its  attempts  to  reform  and  renew  itself.  Its 
heroes  come  before  us  as  reformers  or  refounders,  whose 
endeavour  is  to  reinstitute  the  perfect  way,  impassion  men 
anew  to  follow  it,  by  added  precepts  discipline  them  for 
its  long  ascents,  and  so  occupy  them  in  the  practice  of  its 
virtues  that  all  distracting  impulses  may  perish.  Their 
apparent  endeavour  (at  least  until  the  day  of  Francis  of 
Assisi)  is  to  renew  a life  from  which  their  contemporaries 
have  fallen  away.  And  yet  through  all  there  was  uncon- 
scious innovation  and  progress. 

The  greater  part  of  the  fervent  piety  of  the  Middle 
Ages  dwelt  in  cloisters,  when  not  drawn  forth  unwillingly  to 
serve  the  Lord  in  the  world.  Mediaeval  saints  were,  or 
yearned  to  be,  monks  or  nuns.  Consequently  monastic 
reforms,  as  well  as  attempts  to  raise  the  condition  of  the 
secular  clergy,  emanated  from  within  monasticism.  Its  own 
rules  of  living  had  been  set  from  within  by  Benedict  of 
Nursia,  and  others  who  were  monks.  There  was  much 
irregularity  a;t  first ; but  the  seventh  and  eighth  centuries 
witnessed  the  conflict  between  different  types  of  monastic 
organization,  and  then  the  general  victory  of  the  Benedictine 
regula . This  was  also  a victory  for  monastic  reform ; for 
moral  looseness,  accompanied  by  heathenish  irregularities, 
easily  penetrated  cloisters  when  not  protected  by  a common 
and  authoritative  rule.  As  it  was,  the  energy  of  Benedictine 
uniformity  seemed  exhausted  in  the  contest. 

But  a Benedictine  refounder  arose.  This  was  the  high- 
born Witiza  of  Aquitaine,  the  ascetic  virtuosity  of  whose 
early  life  had  won  him  repute.  Assuming  the  name  of 
Benedict,  he  established  a monastery  on  the  bank  of  the 
little  Aniane,  in  Aquitaine,  in  the  year  779.  His  foundation 


chap,  xvi  REFORMS  OF  MONASTICISM 


375 


flourished  in  righteousness  and  increased  in  numbers,  till  it 
drew  the  attention  of  Alcuin  and  Charlemagne  to  its  abbot. 
Benedict  was  given  the  task  of  reforming  the  monasteries 
of  Aquitaine.  Afterwards  Louis  the  Pious  extended  his 
authority;  till  in  817  a reforming  synod,  over  which  he 
presided,  was  held  at  Aix,  and  the  king’s  authority  was 
attached  to  its  decrees.  All  Frankish  monasteries  were 
therein  commanded  to  observe  the  regula  of  Benedict  of 
Nursia,  with  many  further  precepts  set  by  him  of  Aniane, 
aggravating  the  severity  of  the  older  rule;  for  example,  by 
enforcing  a more  rigid  silence  among  the  monks  when  at 
labour,  and  restricting  their  intercourse  with  the  laity. 
Great  stress  was  laid  upon  the  labours  of  the  field.  There 
was  little  novelty  in  the  work  of  this  reorganizer,  with  his  con- 
sistent ascetic  contempt  for  profane  literature.  His  labours 
were  typical  of  those  of  many  a monastic  reformer  after  him, 
who  likewise  sought  to  re-establish  the  strictness  of  the  old 
Benedictine  rule,  and  in  fact  added  to  its  austerities. 

The  next  example  of  reform  is  Cluny,  founded  in  the 
year  910.  Its  cloister  discipline  followed  the  regula  of 
Benedict  with  the  additions  decreed  by  the  synod  of  Aix. 
Under  Odo  (d.  942),  Majolus  (d.  994)  and  Odilo  (d.  1048)  it 
rose  to  unprecedented  power  and  influence.  Mainly  because 
of  the  winning  and  commanding  qualities  of  its  abbots,  it 
received  the  support  of  kings  and  popes;  its  authority  and 
privileges  were  increased,  until  it  became  the  head  of  more 
than  three  hundred  cloisters  distributed  through  France, 
Italy,  Germany,  and  Spain.  In  ecclesiastical  policy  it 
stood  for  decency  and  reform,  but  without  giving  extreme 
support  to  either  emperor  or  pope.  Balance  and  temperance 
characterized  its  career.  It  was  a monastic  organization 
which  by  precept  and  example,  and  by  the  wide  supervising 
powers  it  received  from  the  papacy  and  from  temporal 
authorities,  promoted  regularity  and  propriety  of  life  among 
monks,  and  also  among  the  secular  clergy.  The  “reforms 
of  Cluny”  do  not  represent  any  specific  intensifying  of 
monastic  principles,  but  rather  the  general  endeavour  of 
the  better  elements  in  Burgundian  and  French  monasticism 
to  overcome  the  crass  secularization  of  the  Church,  within 
and  without  the  cloister.  Cluny’s  influence  told  generally 


376 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


against  monastic  degradation,  rather  than  in  favour  of  any 
special  ascetic  or  ecclesiastic  policy.  The  prevailing  simony, 
the  clerical  concubinage,  the  rough  and  warlike  ways  of 
bishops  and  abbots  were  all  corruptions  standing  in  the  way 
of  any  monastic  or  ecclesiastical  improvement;  and  Cluny 
opposed  them,  in  moderation  however,  and  with  considerable 
acquiescence  in  the  apparently  necessary  conditions  of  the 
time.1 

After  the  comparative  strictness  of  its  first  abbots, 
Cluny’s  discipline  moderated  almost  to  laxity ; and  the 
interests  of  the  rich  and  magnificent  monastery  became 
elegant  and  somewhat  secular.  It  still  maintained  monastic 
decencies  while  not  going  beyond  their  demands.  Its  face 
was  no  longer  set  against  comfortable  living,  nor  against  art 
and  letters.  And  the  time  came  when  fervent  spirits 
demanded  a more  uncompromising  attack  upon  the  world 
and  the  flesh. 

Such  came  from  Citeaux  (near  Dijon),  where  a few 
monks  founded  a struggling  monastery  in  1098.  Its 
fortunes  were  small  and  feeble  until  the  time  of  its  third 
abbot,  the  Englishman,  Stephen  Harding  (1109-1134), 
whose  genius  set  the  lines  of  Citeaux’s  larger  destinies. 
Her  great  period  began  when,  shortly  after  Harding’s 
entrance  on  his  abbacy,  there  arrived  a band  of  well-born 
youths,  led  by  one  Bernard.  Then  of  a truth  the  cloister 
burned  with  ardour.  Its  numbers  grew,  and  Bernard  was 
sent  with  a Cistercian  band  to  found  a daughter  monastery 
at  Clairvaux  (hi 5). 

Like  Stephen  Harding,  Bernard  was  an  ascetic,  and  the 
Cistercian  Order  represents  a stern  tightening  of  the  reins 
which  Cluny  left  lying  somewhat  slackly  upon  the  backs 
of  her  stall-fed  monks.2  Controversies  arose  between  the 
Cluniac  Benedictines  and  the  Cistercian  Benedictines  insist- 
ing on  a stricter  rule.  Bernard  himself  entered  into  heated 
controversy  with  that  great  temperate  personality  of  the 
twelfth  century,  Peter  the  Venerable,  Cluny’s  revered  lord. 

The  original  regula  of  Benedict  provided  an  admirable 

1 See  Sackiir,  Die  Cluniacenser,  etc.,  passim,  and  Bd.  II.  464  (Halle,  1892). 

2 On  the  differences  between  Cluny  and  Citeaux  see  Vacandard,  Vie  de  St.  Bernard, 
chap.  iv.  (2nd  ed.,  Paris,  1897),  and  Zockler,  Askese  und  Monchtum,  2nd  ed.  pp.  406-415 
(Frankfurt  A.  M.,  1897). 


chap,  xvi  REFORMS  OF  MONASTICISM 


377 


constitution  for  the  single  monastery,  but  no  plan  for  the 
supervision  of  one  monastery  by  another.  The  mediaeval 
advance  in  monastic  organization  consisted  in  the  authorita- 
tive supervision  of  subordinate  or  “daughter”  foundations 
by  the  superior  or  primal  monastery  of  the  Order.  The 
Abbot  of  Cluny  exercised  such  authority  over  Cluniac 
foundations,  as  well  as  over  monasteries  which,  at  the 
instance  of  the  secular  lord  of  the  land,  had  been  re- 
organized by  Cluny. 

The  Cistercian  Order  represents  a less  monarchical,  or 
more  decentralized  subordination,  on  a plan  similar  to  the 
feudal  principle  of  sub-infeudation,  whereby  the  holder  of 
the  fief  owed  his  duties  to  his  immediate  lord,  who  in  turn 
owed  duties  to  his  own  lord,  still  above  him.  Thus  in  the 
Cistercian  Order  the  visitatorial  authority  over  each  founda- 
tion was  vested  in  the  immediate  mother  abbey,  rather  than 
in  the  primal  abbey  of  Citeaux,  from  which  the  intervening 
mother  abbey  had  gone  forth. 

This  plan  was  formulated  by  Stephen  Harding’s  Charta 
Charitatis,1  the  charter  of  the  Cistercian  Order  and  a 
monument  of  constructive  genius.  Apparently  mindful  of 
the  various  privileges  recognized  by  the  feudal  system,  it 
begins  by  renouncing  on  the  part  of  the  superior  monastery 
all  claim  to  temporal  emolument  from  the  daughter  founda- 
tions: “Nullam  terrenae  commoditatis  seu  rerum  tempo- 
ralium  exactionem  imponimus.”  “But  for  love’s  sake 
(, gratia  charitatis ) we  desire  to  retain  the  care  of  their  souls ; 
so  that  should  they  swerve  from  the  holy  way  and  the 
observance  of  the  Holy  Rule,  they  may  through  our  solici- 
tude return  to  rectitude  of  life.” 

Then  follows  the  command  that  all  Cistercian  founda- 
tions obey  implicitly  the  regula  of  Benedict,  as  understood 
and  practised  at  Citeaux,  and  that  all  follow  the  customs  of 
Citeaux,  and  the  same  forms  of  chant  and  prayer  and  service 
(for  we  receive  their  monks  in  our  cloister,  and  they  ours), 
“so  that  without  discordant  actions  we  may  live  by  one  love, 
one  rule,  and  like  practices  ( una  charitate , una  regula , 
similibusque  vivamus  moribus).”  A short  sentence  follows, 
forbidding  all  monasteries  and  individual  monks  to  accept 

1Migne  Pat.  Lat.  166,  col.  1377-1384. 


378 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


from  any  source  any  privilege  inconsistent  with  the  customs 
of  the  Order. 

So  the  Charta  enjoined  a uniformity  of  discipline.  Wise 
and  temperate  provision  was  made  for  the  enforcement  of 
the  same  when  necessary  by  the  immediate  parent  monastery 
of  the  delinquent  foundation.  “ Whenever  the  Abbot  of 
Citeaux  comes  to  a monastery  to  visit  it,  its  abbot  shall 
make  way  for  him,  and  he  shall  there  hold  the  office  of 
abbot.  Yet  let  him  not  presume  to  order  or  conduct 
affairs  against  the  wishes  of  its  abbot  and  the  brethren. 
But  if  he  sees  that  the  precepts  of  the  Regula  or  of  our 
Order  are  transgressed,  let  him  seek  to  correct  the  brethren 
with  the  advice  and  in  the  presence  of  the  abbot.  If 
the  abbot  be  absent,  he  may  still  proceed.”  Once  a 
year  the  Abbot  of  Citeaux,  in  person  or  through  one 
of  his  co-abbots,  must  visit  all  the  monasteries  (coenobia) 
which  he  has  founded,  and  if  more  often,  the  brethren  should 
the  more  rejoice.  Likewise  must  the  four  primary  abbots 
of  La  Ferte,  Pontigny,  Clairvaux,  and  Morimond,  together 
visit  Citeaux  once  a year,  at  such  time  as  they  may  choose, 
except  that  set  for  the  annual  meeting  of  the  general  Chapter. 
At  Citeaux  also,  let  any  visiting  abbot  be  treated  as  if  he 
were  abbot  there. 

“Whenever  any  of  our  churches  (monasteries)  by  God’s  grace 
so  increases  that  it  is  able  to  found  another  brotherhood,  let  the 
same  relationship  (definitio)  obtain  between  them  which  obtains 
between  us  and  our  cofratres,  except  that  they  may  not  hold  an 
annual  Chapter ; but  rather  let  all  abbots  come  without  fail  every 
year  to  the  annual  Chapter  at  Citeaux. 

“At  which  Chapter  let  them  take  measures  for  the  safety  of 
their  souls ; if  in  the  observance  of  the  holy  Regula  or  the  Order, 
anything  should  be  amended  or  supplemented,  let  them  ordain  it ; 
let  them  re-establish  the  bond  of  peace  and  love  among  them- 
selves.” 

The  annual  Chapter  is  also  given  authority  to  correct 
any  abbot  and  settle  controversies  between  abbots ; but 
when  an  abbot  appears  unworthy  of  his  charge,  and  the 
Chapter  has  not  acted,  it  is  the  duty  of  the  abbot  of  his 
mother  church  to  admonish  him,  and,  upon  his  obduracy, 
summon  other  abbots  and  move  for  his  deposition.  Thus 


chap,  xvi  REFORMS  OF  MONASTICISM 


379 


the  Charta  Charitatis  apportioned  authority  among  the  abbots 
of  the  Order,  providing,  as  it  were,  a mutual  power  of  enforce- 
ment in  which  every  abbot  had  part.  One  notices  also  that 
the  Charta  is  neither  monarchical  nor  democratic,  but  aristo- 
cratic; for  the  abbots  (not  the  Abbot  of  Citeaux  alone) 
manage  and  control  the  Order,  and  without  any  representa- 
tion of  the  monks  at  the  annual  Chapter.1  The  Charta 
Charitatis  seems  a spiritual  mirror  of  the  feudal  system. 

Mediaeval  monasticism,  whether  cloistered  or  sent  forth 
into  the  world,  was  predominantly  coenobitic  or  communal. 
Yet  through  the  Middle  Ages  the  anchorite  or  hermit  way 
of  life  was  not  unrepresented.  Both  monk  and  hermit 
existed  from  the  beginning  of  Christian  monasticism;  they 
recognized  the  same  purpose,  but  employed  different  means 
to  achieve  it.  For  their  common  aim  was  to  merit  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  through  the  suppression  of  sense-desires 
and  devotion  to  spiritual  righteousness.  But  the  communal 
system  recognized  the  social  nature  of  man,  his  essential 
weakness  in  isolation,  and  his  inability  to  satisfy  his  bodily 
wants  by  himself.  Thus  admitting  the  human  need  of 
fellowship  and  correction,  it  deemed  that  man’s  spiritual 
progress  could  be  best  advanced  in  a way  of  life  which  took 
account  of  these  facts.  On  the  other  hand,  anchoritism 
looked  rather  to  man’s  self-sufficiency  alone  with  God — 
and  the  devil.  It  held  that  man  could  best  conquer  his 
carnal  nature  in  solitude,  and  in  solitude  best  meditate  upon 
his  soul  and  God.  The  society  of  one’s  fellows,  even  though 
they  be  like-minded,  is  a distraction  and  a hindrance. 
Obviously,  the  devoted  temper  has  its  variants ; and  some 
souls  will  draw  from  solitude  that  strength  which  others  gain 
from  support  and  sympathy. 

Both  the  coenobitic  and  the  hermit  life  were,  from  the 
time  of  their  inception,  phases  of  the  vita  contemplativa. 
Yet  more  active  duties  had  constantly  been  recognized,  until 
at  last  monasticism,  in  an  ardour  of  love  for  fellow-men, 
broke  from  the  cloister  and  went  abroad  in  the  steps  of 
Francis  and  Dominic.  Even  this  active  and  uncloistered 
monasticism  drew  its  strength  from  its  hidden  meditation, 

1 In  fact,  paragraph  15  provides  that  at  the  Chapter  accusations  against  an 
abbot  shall  be  brought  only  by  an  abbot. 


380 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


and,  strengthened  from  within  itself,  entered  upon  the  vita 
activa , and  practised  among  men  the  virtues  which  it  had 
acquired  through  contemplation  and  the  quiet  discipline  of 
the  cloister.  So  if  we  people  of  the  world  would  have 
understanding  of  the  matter,  we  must  never  forget  that  at  its 
source  and  in  its  essence  the  monastic  life  is  a vita  con- 
templativa,  whether  the  monastic  man,  as  a member  of  a 
fervent  community,  be  sustained  through  the  support  of  his 
brethren  and  the  counsel  or  command  of  his  superior,  or 
whether,  as  an  anchorite,  he  seclude  himself  in  solitude. 
And  the  essence  of  this  vita  contemplativa  is  not  to  do  or 
act,  but  to  contemplate,  meditate  upon  God  and  the  human 
soul.  By  one  line  of  ancestry  it  is  a descendant  of  Aristotle’s 
/3to?  OecoprjTi/cos.  But  its  mightier  parent  was  the  Saviour’s 
manifestation  of  God’s  love  of  man  and  man’s  love  of  God. 
From  this  source  came  the  emotional  elements  (and  they 
were  the  predominant  and  overwhelming)  of  the  Christian 
vita  contemplativa , its  terror  and  despair,  its  tears  and  hope, 
and  its  yearning  love.  Through  these  any  Hellenic  calm 
was  transformed  to  storm-tossed  Christian  ecstasy. 

Monastic  quietism  might  at  any  time  be  drafted  into 
Christian  militancy.  In  the  crises  of  the  Church,  or  when 
there  was  call  to  go  forth  and  convert  the  heathen  or  the 
carnal,  both  monk  and  hermit  became  zealots  in  the  world. 
Yet  important  and  frequent  as  these  active  functions  were, 
they  were  not  commanded  by  the  Benedictine  regula,  either 
in  its  original  form  or  in  its  many  modifications,  Cluniac, 
Cistercian,  or  Carthusian ; hence  they  were  not  treated  as 
part  of  the  monastic  life.  There  was  to  come  a change.  The 
vita  contemplativa  was  to  take  to  itself  the  vita  activa  as  a 
regular  and  not  an  occasional  function  of  perfect  Christian 
piety.  An  evangelization  of  monasticism,  according  to  the 
more  active  spirit  of  the  Gospel,  was  at  hand.  The  mon- 
astic ideal  was  to  become  humane  and  actively  loving.  In 
principle  and  theory,  as  well  as  practice,  Christian  piety  was 
no  longer  to  find  its  entire  end  and  aim  in  contemplation,  in 
asceticism,  in  purity : it  was  regularly  henceforth  to  occupy 
itself  with  a loving  beneficence  among  men. 

Some  of  the  ardent  beginnings  of  this  movement  did  not 
receive  the  sanction  of  the  Church.  The  Poor  of  Lyons,  the 


chap,  xvi  REFORMS  OF  MONASTICISM 


381 


Humbled  Folk  ( Humiliati ) of  Lombardy,  the  Beghards  of 
Liege,  were  pronounced  to  be  heretics.  Predominantly  lay 
and  ecclesiastically  somewhat  bizarre,  they  were  scarcely 
monks.  Yet  these  irregular  evangelists  of  the  latter  part  of 
the  twelfth  century  were  forerunners  of  that  chief  evangelizer 
of  Monasticism,  Francis  of  Assisi.1 

The  life  of  Francis,  as  all  men  know,  fulfilled  the  current 
demands  of  monasticism.  He  lived  and  taught  obedience, 
chastity,  humility,  and  a more  absolute  poverty  than  had 
been  before  conceived.  With  respect  to  the  first  three 
virtues,  it  was  only  through  his  loving  way  of  living  them 
that  Francis  set  anything  new  before  his  brethren.  As  for 
the  last,  it  may  be  said  that  monks  had  always  been  forbidden 
to  own  property;  only  the  monastery  or  the  Order  might. 
Francis’s  absolute  acceptance  of  poverty  comes  to  us  as 
inspired  by  the  command  of  Christ  to  the  rich  young 
man : Go  and  sell  all,  and  give  to  the  poor,  and  then  come 
follow  me.  But  had  no  Christian  soul  read  this  before  and 
accepted  it  absolutely?  The  Athanasiah  Life  of  St.  Anthony, 


1 It  is  interesting  to  observe  how  much  of  Stephen  of  Bourbon’s  description 
of  the  Poor  of  Lyons  applies  to  Franciscan  beginnings,  and  how  much  more  of  it 
would  have  applied  had  not  St.  Francis  possessed  the  gift  of  obedience  among 
his  other  virtues.  Stephen  was  a Dominican  of  the  first  half  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  and  himself  an  inquisitor.  Thus  he  describes  these  misled  people : 
“The  Waldenses  are  called  after  the  author  of  this  heresy,  whose  name  was 
Waldensis.  They  are  also  called  the  Poor  of  Lyons,  because  there  they  first 
professed  poverty.  Likewise  they  call  themselves  the  Poor  in  Spirit,  because  the 
Lord  says:  ‘Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit.  . . .’  Waldensis,  who  lived  in  Lyons, 

was  a man  of  wealth,  but  of  little  education.  Hearing  the  Gospels,  and  curious 
to  understand  their  meaning,  he  bargained  with  two  priests  that  they  should 
make  a translation  in  the  vulgar  tongue.  This  they  did,  with  other  books  of  the 
Bible  and  many  precepts  from  the  writings  of  the  saints.  When  this  townsman 
had  read  the  Gospel  till  he  knew  it  by  heart,  he  set  out  to  follow  apostolic  per- 
fection, just  as  the  Apostles  themselves.  So,  selling  all  his  goods,  in  contempt  of 
the  world,  he  tossed  his  money  like  dirt  to  the  poor.  Then  he  presumed  to  usurp 
the  office  of  the  Apostles,  and  preached  the  Gospels  in  the  open  streets.  He  led 
many  men  and  women  to  do  the  same,  exercising  them  in  the  Gospels.  He  also 
sent  them  to  preach  in  the  neighbouring  villages.  These  ignorant  men  and  women 
running  through  villages,  entering  houses,  and  preaching  in  the  open  places  as  well 
as  the  churches,  drew  others  to  the  same  ways.” 

Up  to  this  point  we  are  close  to  the  Franciscans.  But  now  the  Archbishop 
of  Lyons  forbids  these  ignorant  irregular  evangelists  to  preach.  Their  leader 
answers  for  them,  that  they  must  obey  God  rather  than  man,  and  Scripture  says 
to  preach  the  Gospel  to  every  creature.  Thus  they  fell  into  disobedience,  con- 
tumacy, and  incurred  excommunication,  says  Stephen  ( Anecdotes , etc.,  d' Etienne 
de  Bourbon,  edited  by  Lecoy  de  la  Marche  (Soc.  de  l’Histoire  de  France,  Paris, 
1877,  cap.  342). 


382 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


at  the  very  beginning  of  Christian  monasticism,  has  the 
same  account;  he  too  gave  up  all  he  had  on  reading  this 
passage.  But  then  he  fled  to  the  desert,  while  Francis, 
when  he  had  given  up  all,  opened  his  arms  to  mankind. 
In  accordance  with  his  brotherly  and  social  evangelization 
of  monasticism,  Francis  modified  certain  of  its  practices. 
He  removed  restrictions  upon  intercourse  among  the 
brethren,  and  took  away  the  barriers,  save  those  of  holiness, 
between  the  brethren  and  the  world.  Then  he  lifted  the 
veil  of  silence  from  the  brethren’s  lips.  They  should  thence- 
forth speak  freely,  in  love  of  God  and  man.  So  monasticism 
stepped  forth,  at  last  uncloistered,  upon  its  course  of  love  and 
teaching  in  the  world. 

In  spite  of  the  temperamental  differences  between  Francis 
and  Dominic,  and  in  spite  of  the  different  tasks  which  they 
set  before  their  Orders,  the  analogy  between  Franciscans  and 
Dominicans  was  fundamental ; for  the  latter,  as  well  as  the 
former,  regularly  undertook  to  evoke  the  vita  activa  from  the 
vita  contemplativa.  The  Dominicans  were  to  preach  and 
teach  true  Christian  doctrine,  and  as  veritable  Domini  canes 
destroy  the  wolves  of  heresy  menacing  the  Christian  fold. 

Dominic  received  from  Pope  Honorius  III.,  in  1217,  the 
confirmation  of  his  Order,  as  an  Order  of  Canons  according 
to  the  Regula  supposed  to  have  been  taught  by  Augustine. 
The  Preaching  Friars  were  never  cloistered  by  their  regula , 
any  more  than  were  the  Minorites.  Two  or  three  years 
later,  Dominic  added,  or  emphasized  anew,  the  principle  of 
voluntary  poverty,  not  only  in  the  individuals  but  in  the 
Order  as  a corporate  whole.  Whencesoever  he  derived  this 
idea — whether  from  the  Franciscans,  or  because  it  was  rife 
among  men — at  all  events  it  was  not  his  originally;  for 
Dominic  had  accepted  at  an  earlier  period  the  one-sixth 
of  the  revenues  of  the  Bishop  of  Toulouse.  This  he  now 
renounced,  and  instead  accepted  voluntary  poverty. 

It  was  not  given  to  Dominic  to  love  as  Francis  loved. 
Nor  was  he  an  incarnate  poem.  But  it  was  in  the  spirit  of 
Christian  devotion  that  he  undertook  and  laid  upon  his 
Order  the  performance  of  active  duties  in  the  world,  espe- 
cially of  preaching  true  doctrines  for  the  salvation  of  souls. 
Dominic  took  no  personal  part  in  the  Albigensian  blood- 


chap,  xvi  REFORMS  OF  MONASTICISM 


383 


shedding;  and  he  was  not  the  founder  of  the  Inquisition, 
although  his  Order  was  so  soon  to  be  identified  with  it.  He 
was  a theologian,  a teacher,  and  an  ardent  preacher;  a 
devoted  man,  given  to  tears.  Almost  the  only  words  we 
have  from  him  are  those  of  his  Testament:  “Caritatem 

habete,  humilitatem  servate,  paupertatem  voluntariam 
possedete.”  1 

1 The  role  of  Franciscans  and  Dominicans  in  the  spread  of  philosophic  know- 
ledge in  the  thirteenth  century  will  be  considered  post,  Chapter  XXXVIII.  Chapter 
XIX.,  post,  is  devoted  to  the  personal  qualities  of  Francis. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


THE  HERMIT  TEMPER 

Peter  Damiani;  Romuald;  Dominicus  Loricatus; 

Bruno  and  Guigo,  Carthusians 

To  contemplate  goodness  in  God,  and  strain  toward  it  in 
yearning  love,  is  the  method  of  the  Christian  vita  contem- 
plativa.  In  this  way  the  recluse  cultivates  humility,  patience, 
purity,  and  love,  and  perfects  his  soul  for  heaven.  And 
herein,  in  that  it  is  more  undistracted  and  more  undisturbed, 
lies  the  superiority  of  the  solitary  life  over  the  coenobitic. 

Yet  this  conceived  superiority  is  but  the  reason  and  the 
conscious  motive  for  the  solitary  life.  The  call  to  it  is  felt 
as  well  as  intellectually  accepted.  It  is  temperament  that 
makes  the  recluse ; his  reasons  are  but  his  justification.  In 
solitude  he  lives  the  reaches  of  his  life ; from  solitude  he 
draws  his  utmost  bliss.  To  leave  it  involves  the  torture  of 
separation,  and  then  all  the  petty  pains  of  unhappy  labour 
and  distasteful  intercourse  with  men.  “Whoever  would 
reach  the  summit  of  perfection  should  keep  within  the 
cloister  of  his  seclusion,  cherish  spiritual  leisure,  and  shudder 
at  traversing  the  world,  as  if  he  were  about  to  plunge  into  a 
sea  of  blood.  For  the  world  is  so  filthy  with  vices,  that  any 
holy  mind  is  befouled  even  by  thinking  about  it.”  1 

Here  speaks  the  hermit  temper,  by  the  mouth  of  a 
supreme  exponent.  If  Hildebrand,  who  compelled  all  men 
to  his  purposes,  kept  Peter  Damiani  in  the  world,  that 
ascetic  soul  did  not  cease  to  yearn  for  the  hermit  life.  His 
skilful  pen  served  it  untiringly.  Its  temper,  its  merits, 
and  its  grounds,  appear  with  unique  clarity  in  the  writings 
of  him  who,  sore  against  his  will,  was  the  Cardinal-Bishop 
of  Ostia.2 

1 Peter  Damiani,  De  contemptu  saeculi,  cap.  32  (Migne  145,  col.  287). 

2 On  Damiani,  see  ante,  Chapter  XI.  iv. 

384 


CHAP.  XVII 


THE  HERMIT  TEMPER 


385 


“The  solitary  life  is  the  school  of  celestial  doctrine  and 
the  divine  arts  ( artes  dimnae ),”  says  Damiani,  meaning 
every  word.  “For  there  God  is  the  whole  that  is  learned. 
He  is  also  the  way  by  which  one  advances,  through  which 
one  attains  knowledge  of  the  highest  truth.”  1 To  obtain 
its  benefits,  it  must  be  led  assiduously  and  without  break  or 
wandering  abroad  among  men : “Habit  makes  his  cell  sweet 
to  the  monk,  but  roving  makes  it  seem  horrible.  . . . The 
unbroken  hermit  life  is  a cooling  refreshment  (refrigerium) ; 
but,  if  interrupted,  it  seems  a torment.  Through  continued 
seclusion  the  soul  is  illuminated,  vices  are  uncovered,  and 
whatever  of  himself  had  been  hidden  from  the  man,  is 
disclosed.”  2 

Peter  argues  that  the  hermit  life  is  free  from  tempta- 
tions ( ! ) and  offers  every  aid  to  victory. 

“The  wise  man,  bent  on  safeguarding  his  salvation,  watches 
always  to  destroy  his  vices  ; he  girds  his  loins — and  his  belly — 
with  the  girdle  of  perfect  mortification.  Truly  that  takes  place 
when  the  itching  palate  is  suppressed,  when  the  pert  tongue  is 
held  in  silence,  the  ear  is  shut  off  from  evil-speaking  and  the  eye 
from  umpermitted  sights;  when  the  hand  is  held  from  cruel 
striking,  and  the  foot  from  vainly  roving;  when  the  heart  is 
withstood,  that  it  may  not  envy  another’s  felicity,  nor  through 
avarice  covet  what  is  not  its  own,  nor  through  anger  sever  itself 
from  fraternal  love,  nor  vaunt  itself  arrogantly  above  its  fellows, 
nor  yield  to  the  ticklings  of  lust,  nor  immoderately  sink  itself 
in  grief  or  abandon  itself  wantonly  to  joy.  Since,  then,  the  human 
mind  has  not  the  power  to  remain  entirely  empty,  and  unoccupied 
with  the  love  of  something,  it  is  girt  around  with  a wall  of  the 
virtues. 

“In  this  way,  then,  our  mind  begins  to  be  at  rest  in  its  Author 
and  to  taste  the  sweetness  of  that  intimacy.  At  once  it  rejects 
whatever  it  deems  contrary  to  the  divine  law,  shrinks  from  what 
does  not  agree  with  the  rule  of  supernal  righteousness.  Hence 
true  mortification  is  born;  hence  it  comes  that  man  bearing  the 
Cross  of  his  Redeemer  seems  dead  to  the  world.  No  longer  he 
delights  in  silly  fables,  nor  is  content  to  waste  his  time  with  idle 
talk.  But  he  is  free  for  psalms  and  hymns  and  spiritual  songs; 
he  seeks  seclusion,  he  longs  for  a hiding-place;  he  regards  the 

1 Peter  Damiani,  Opusc.  xi.,  Dominus  vobiscum,  cap.  19  (Migne  145,  col.  246). 

2 Peter  Damiani,  De  contemptu  saeculi,  cap.  25  (Migne  145,  col.  278). 

VOL.  I 2 C 


386 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


cloister  as  a shop  for  talkers,  a public  forum,  and  rejoices  in  nooks 
and  pries  out  corners;  and  that  he  may  the  more  freely  attend 
to  the  contemplation  of  his  Creator,  so  far  as  he  may  he  declines 
colloquy  with  men.”  1 

“In  fine,”  says  Damiani,  in  another  chapter,  “our  entire 
conversion,  and  renunciation  of  the  world,  aims  at  nothing  else 
than  rest.  This  rest  is  won  through  the  man’s  prior  discipline  in 
the  toils  of  strife,  in  order  that  when  the  tumult  of  disturbance 
ceases,  his  mind,  through  the  grace  of  contemplation,  may  be 
translated  to  explore  the  face  of  truth.  But  since  one  attains  to 
this  rest  only  through  labour  and  conflict,  how  can  one  reach  it 
who  has  not  gone  down  into  the  strife?  By  what  right  can  one 
enter  the  hall  of  the  King  who  has  not  traversed  the  arena  before 
the  doors?”  2 

“It  further  behoves  each  brother  who  with  his  whole  heart 
has  abandoned  the  world,  to  unlearn  and  forget  forever  whatever 
is  injurious.  He  should  not  be  disputatious  as  to  cookery,  nor 
clever  in  the  petty  matters  of  the  town ; nor  an  adept  in  rhetoric’s 
jinglings  or  in  jokes  or  word  play.  He  should  love  fasts  and 
cherish  penury ; he  should  flee  the  sight  of  man,  restrain  himself 
under  the  censorship  of  silence,  withdraw  from  affairs,  keep  his 
mouth  from  idle  talk,  and  seek  the  hiding-place  of  his  soul,  and 
in  such  hiding  be  on  fire  to  see  the  face  of  his  Creator.  Let  him 
pant  for  tears,  and  implore  God  for  them  by  daily  prayer.”  3 


1 Peter  Damiani,  De  perfectione  monachi,  caps.  2,  3 (Migne  145,  col.  294). 

2 De  perfectione  monachi,  cap.  8 (Migne  145,  col.  303). 

3 De  per f.  mon.  cap.  12  (Migne  145,  col.  307).  For  such  as  have  feeling  for 
these  matters,  I give  these  further  extracts  from  the  same  De  perf.  mon.  cap.  12. 
“For  the  dew  of  tears  cleanses  the  soul  from  every  stain  and  makes  fruitful  the 
meadows  of  our  hearts  so  that  they  bring  forth  the  sprouts  of  virtue.  For  often 
as  under  an  icy  frost  the  wretched  soul  sheds  its  foliage,  and,  grace  departing,  it 
is  left  to  itself  barren  and  stripped  of  its  shortlived  blossoms.  But  anon  tears 
given  by  the  Tester  of  hearts  burst  forth,  and  this  same  soul  is  loosed  from  the 
cold  of  its  slothful  torpor,  and  is  clothed  again  with  the  renewed  blossom  of  its  virtues 
as  a tree  in  spring  kindled  by  the  south  wind. 

“Tears,  moreover,  which  are  from  God,  with  confidence  approach  the  tribunal 
of  divine  hearing,  and  quickly  obtaining  what  they  ask,  assure  us  of  the  remission 
of  our  sins.  Tears  are  intermediaries  in  concluding  peace  between  God  and  men; 
they  are  the  truthful  and  the  very  wisest  ( doctissimae ) teachers  in  the  dubiousness 
of  human  ignorance.  For  when  we  are  in  doubt  whether  something  may  be 
pleasing  to  God,  we  can  reach  no  better  certitude  than  through  prayer,  weeping 
truthfully.  We  need  never  again  hesitate  as  to  what  our  mind  has  decided  on 
under  such  conditions. 

“Tears,”  continues  Damiani,  “washed  the  noisomeness  of  her  guilt  from  the 
Magdalen,  saved  the  Apostle  who  denied  his  Lord,  restored  King  David  after 
deadly  sin,  added  three  years  to  Hezekiah’s  life,  preserved  inviolate  the  chastity 
of  Judith,  and  won  for  her  the  head  of  Holophernes.  Why  mention  the  centurion 
Cornelius,  why  mention  Susanna?  indeed  were  I to  tell  all  the  deeds  of  tears. 


CHAP.  XVII 


THE  HERMIT  TEMPER 


387 


With  this  last  sentence  Damiani  makes  his  transition  to 
the  emotional  side  of  the  Christian  vita  contemplativa.  He 
will  now  pour  himself  out  in  a rhapsody  of  praise  of  tears, 
which  purify  and  refresh  the  soul,  and  open  it  to  the  love 
of  God. 

“From  the  fire  of  divine  love  rises  the  grace  of  contrition 
{gratia  compunctionis) , . . . and  again  from  the  contrition  of 
tears  {ex  compunctione  lacrymarum)  the  ardour  of  celestial  yearn- 
ing is  increased.  The  one  hangs  from  the  other,  and  each  pro- 
motes the  other;  while  the  contrition  of  tears  flows  from  the 
love  of  God,  through  tears  again  our  soul  burns  more  fervidly 
toward  the  love  of  God.  In  this  reciprocal  and  alternating  action, 
the  soul  is  purged  of  the  filth  of  its  offence. ” 

Elsewhere  Damiani  suggests  how  the  hermit  may  acquire 
the  “grace  of  tears”  : 

“Seclude  thyself  from  the  turmoil  of  secular  affairs  and  often 
even  from  talk  with  thy  brethren.  Cut  off  the  cares  and  anxieties 
of  mundane  action ; clear  them  away  as  a heap  of  rubbish  which 
stops  the  fountain’s  flow.  As  water  in  a cavern  of  the  earth  wells 
up  from  the  abyss,  but  hindered  by  obstacles  cannot  flow  forth, 
so  sadness  {tristitia)  wells  in  a human  heart  from  contemplation 
of  the  profundity  of  God’s  Judgment,  and  yet  will  not  flow  forth 
in  tears  if  checked  by  the  clog  of  earthly  acts.  Sadness  is  the 
material  of  tears.  But  in  order  that  the  veins  of  this  fount  may 
flow  more  abundantly,  do  thou  clear  away  all  obstacles  of  secular 
business:  and  not  to  omit  what  I have  frequently  experienced, 
even  spiritual  zeal,  the  punishment  of  delinquents  and  the  labour 
of  preaching,  holy  as  they  are  and  commanded  by  divine  authority, 
nevertheless  are  certainly  obstacles  to  tears. 

“So  if  you  would  attain  the  grace  of  tears,  you  must  even  curb 
the  exercise  of  spiritual  duties,  eliminate  malice,  anger,  and  hatred, 

the  day  would  close  before  my  task  were  ended.  For  it  is  they  that  purify  the 
sinner’s  soul,  confirm  his  inconstant  heart,  prepare  joy  out  of  grief,  and,  breaking 
forth  from  our  eyes  of  flesh,  raise  us  to  the  hope  of  supernal  beatitude.  For  their 
petition  may  not  be  set  aside,  so  mighty  are  their  voices  in  the  Creator’s  ears.  . . . 
Before  the  pious  Judge  they  hesitate  at  nothing,  but  vindicate  their  claim  to  mercy 
as  a right,  and  exult  confident  of  having  obtained  what  they  implore. 

“O  ye  tears,  joys  of  the  spirit,  sweeter  than  honey,  sweeter  than  nectar! 
which  with  a sweet  and  pleasant  taste  refresh  minds  lifted  up  to  God,  and  water 
consumed  and  arid  hearts  with  a flood  of  penetrating  grace  from  heaven.  Weeping 
eyes  terrify  the  devil;  he  fears  the  onslaught  of  tears  bursting  forth,  as  one  would 
flee  a tempest  of  hail  driven  by  the  fury  of  all  the  winds.  As  the  torrent’s  rush  cleanses 
the  river-bed,  the  flowing  tears  purge  the  weeper’s  mind  from  the  devil’s  tares  and 
every  pest  of  sin.” 


388 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


and  the  other  pests  from  your  heart.  And  do  not  let  your  own 
accusing  conscience  dry  up  the  dew  of  tears  with  the  aridity  of 
fear.  Indeed  the  confidence  of  holiness  ( sanctitatis  fiducia ) and  a 
conscience  bearing  witness  to  its  own  innocenoe,  waters  the  pure 
soul  with  the  celestial  rivulets  of  grace,  softens  the  hardness  of  the 
impure  heart,  and  opens  the  floodgates  of  weeping.”  1 

“Many  are  the  ways,”  says  Damiani  in  words  sounding  like  a 
final  reflection  upon  the  solitary  life — “many  are  the  ways  by 
which  one  comes  to  God ; diverse  are  the  orders  in  the  society  of 
the  faithful;  but  among  them  all  there  is  no  way  so  straight,  so 
sure,  so  unimpeded,  so  free  from  obstacles  which  trip  one’s  feet,  as 
this  holy  life.  It  eliminates  occasions  for  sin;  it  cultivates  the 
greatest  number  of  virtues  by  which  God  may  be  pleased;  and 
thus,  as  it  removes  the  opportunities  of  delinquency,  it  adds  the 
strength  of  necessity’s  insistence  upon  good  works.”  2 

* 

Peter  Damiani,  exiled  from  solitude,  found  no  task  more 
grateful  than  that  of  writing  the  Life  of  his  older  contem- 
porary, St.  Romualdus,  the  founder  of  Camaldoli  and  other 
hermit  communities  in  Italy.  That  man  had  completely 
lived  the  life  from  which  the  Church’s  exigencies  dragged 
his  biographer.  Peter  put  himself,  as  well  as  his  best 
literary  powers,  into  this  Vita  Romualdi , and  made  it  one  of 
the  most  vivid  of  mediaeval  Vitae  sanctorum.  If  Romuald 
was  a hermit  in  the  flesh,  Damiani  had  the  imagination  to 
make  the  hermit  spirit  speak.3 

“Against  thee,  unclean  world,  we  cry,  that  thou  hast  an  in- 
tolerable crowd  of  the  foolish  wise,  eloquent  as  regards  thee,  mute 
as  to  God.  Wise  are  they  to  do  evil ; they  know  not  how  to  do 
good.  For  behold  almost  three  lustra 4 have  passed  since  the 
blessed  Romualdus,  laying  aside  the  burden  of  flesh,  migrated 
to  the  heavenly  realm,  and  no  one  has  arisen  from  these  wise 
people  to  place  upon  the  page  of  history  even  a few  of  the  lessons 
of  that  wonderful  life.” 

The  tone  of  this  prologue  suggests  the  kind  of  lessons 
found  by  the  biographer  in  the  Life  of  Romuald.  He  was 

1 De  inst.  ord.  eremitarum,  cap.  26  (Migne  145,  col.  358).  On  the  distraction 
from  the  vita  contemplativa  involved  in  an  abbot’s  duties  see  Damiani’s  verses,  De 
abbatum  miseria,  ante,  Chapter  XI.  iv. 

2 De  inst.  ord.  er.  cap.  1 (Migne  145,  col.  337). 

3 The  Vita  Romualdi  is  printed  in  Migne  144,  col.  953-1008. 

4 Romuald  died  in  1027;  lustrum  here  may  mean  four  years,  which  would  bring 
the  time  of  writing  to  1039. 


CHAP.  XVII 


THE  HERMIT  TEMPER 


389 


born  of  an  illustrious  Ravenna  family  about  the  year  950. 
In  youth  his  devout  mind  became  conscious  of  the  sinfulness 
of  the  flesh.  Whenever  he  went  hunting,  as  was  his  wont, 
and  would  come  to  a retired  nook  in  the  woods,  the  hermit 
yearning  came  over  him — and  in  love,  says  Damiani,  he  was 
prescient  of  what  he  was  later  to  fulfil  in  deed. 

His  father  chanced  to  kill  a neighbour  in  knightly  brawl ; 
and  for  this  homicide  the  son  entered  the  monastery  of  St. 
Apollinaris  in  Classe,  to  do  forty  days’  penance  for  his 
parent.  This  introduction  to  the  cloister  had  its  natural 
effect  on  such  a temper.  Goaded  by  a vision  of  the  saint, 
Romuald  became  a monk.  He  soon  showed  himself  no  easy 
man.  His  harsh  censure  of  the  brethren’s  laxities  caused  a 
plot  to  murder  him,  the  first  of  many  attempts  upon  his  life. 

Three  years  he  dwelt  there.  Then  the  yearning  for 
perfection  drove  him  forth,  and,  for  a master,  he  sought  out 
a hermit  named  Marinus,  who  lived  in  the  Venetian  terri- 
tory, a man  well  meaning,  but  untaught  as  to  the  method  of 
the  hermit  life.  He  and  his  disciple  would  issue  from  their 
cell  and  wander,  singing  together  twenty  psalms  under  one 
tree,  and  then  thirty  or  forty  under  another.  The  disciple 
was  unlettered,  and  the  master  rude.  Romuald  experienced 
intolerable  tedium  from  straining  his  fixed  eyes  upon  a 
psalter,  which  he  could  not  read.  He  may  have  betrayed 
his  ennui.  At  all  events  Marinus,  grasping  his  rod  in  his 
right  hand,  and  sitting  on  his  disciple’s  left,  continually  beat 
him,  and  always  on  the  left  side  of  his  head.  At  length 
Romuald  said  humbly:  “ Master,  if  you  please,  would  you 
henceforth  beat  me  on  the  right  side,  as  I have  lost  the 
hearing  of  my  left  ear.” 

In  the  neighbourhood  there  dwelt  a duke  whose  rapacity 
had  brought  him  into  peril.  It  happened  that  the  abbot  of  a 
monastery  situated  not  far  from  Chalons-sur-Marne  in  France 
came  pilgrimaging  that  way,  and  the  duke  took  counsel  of 
him.  The  two  hermits  were  also  called ; and  the  advice  to 
the  duke  was  to  flee  the  world.  So  the  whole  party  set 
forth,  crossed  the  Alps,  and  travelled  to  the  abbot’s 
monastery.  There  the  duke  became  a monk,  while  Romuald 
and  Marinus  dwelt  as  solitaries  a little  way  off. 

From  this  time  Romuald  increased  in  virtue,  far  out- 


390 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


stripping  all  the  brethren.  He  supplied  his  wants  by  tilling 
the  soil,  and  fasted  exceedingly.  He  sustained  continual 
conflicts  with  the  devil,  who  was  always  bringing  into  his 
mind  the  loves  and  hates  of  his  former  life  in  the  world. 

“The  devil  would  come  striking  on  his  cell,  just  as  Romuald 
was  falling  asleep,  and  then  no  sleep  for  him.  Every  night  for 
nearly  five  years  the  devil  lay  on  his  feet  and  legs,  and  weighted 
them  with  the  likeness  of  a phantom  weight,  so  that  Romuald 
could  scarcely  turn  on  his  couch.  How  often  did  the  devil  let 
loose  the  raging  beasts  of  the  vices ! and  how  often  did  Romuald 
put  them  to  flight  by  his  dire  threats!  Hence  if  any  of  the 
brethren  came  in  the  silence,  knocking  at  his  door,  the  soldier 
of  Christ,  always  ready  for  battle,  taking  him  for  the  devil,  would 
threaten  and  cry  out ! ‘ What  now,  wretch ! what  is  there  for 

thee  in  the  hermitage,  outcast  of  heaven!  Back,  unclean  dog! 
Vanish,  old  snake!’  He  declared  that  with  such  words  as  these 
he  gave  battle  to  malignant  spirits;  and  with  the  arms  of  faith 
would  go  out  and  meet  the  challenge  of  the  foe.” 

Marvellously  Romuald  increased  his  fasts  and  austerities 
after  the  manner  of  the  old  anchorites  of  Egypt.1  Miraculous 
powers  became  his.  But  news  came  of  his  father  which 
drew  him  back  to  Italy.  That  noble  but  sinful  parent  had 
entered  a monastery  where,  under  the  persuasion  of  the  devil, 
he  was  soon  sorry  for  his  conversion,  and  sought  to  return 
to  the  world.  Romuald  decided  to  go  to  his  perishing 
father’s  aid.  But  the  people  of  the  region  hearing  of  it, 
were  distressed  to  lose  a man  of  such  spiritual  might.  They 
took  counsel  how  to  prevent  his  departure,  and  with  impious 

1 Vita  Romualdi,  caps.  8,  g.  Damiani  does  not  say  this  here,  but  quite 
definitely  suggests  it  in  cap.  64.  The  lives  of  these  eastern  hermits  were  known 
to  Romuald;  hermits  in  Italy  had  imitated  them;  and  the  connection  with  the 
knowledge  of  the  Orient  was  not  severed.  See  Sackur,  Die  Cluniacenser,  etc., 
i.  324  sqq.  Thus  for  their  models  these  Italian  hermits  go  behind  the  Regula 
Benedicti  to  the  anchorite  examples  of  Cassian  and  the  East.  Cf.  Taylor,  Classical 
Heritage,  p.  160.  A good  example  was  St.  Nilus,  a Calabrian,  perhaps  of  Greek 
stock.  As  Abbot  of  Crypta-Ferrata  in  Agro-Tusculano,  he  did  not  cease  from 
his  austerities,  and  still  dwelt  in  a cave.  He  died  in  1005  at  the  alleged  age  of 
ninety-five.  His  days  are  thus  described:  from  dawn  to  the  third  hour  he  copied 

rapidly,  filling  a rerpaSelov  (quaternion)  each  day.  From  the  third  to  the  sixth 
hour  he  stood  before  the  Cross  of  the  Lord,  reciting  psalms  and  making  genuflections ; 
from  the  sixth  to  the  ninth,  he  sat  and  read — no  profane  book  we  may  be  sure.  When 
the  ninth  hour  was  come,  he  addressed  his  evening  hymn  to  God  and  went  out  to  walk 
and  study  Him  in  His  works.  See  his  Vita,  from  the  Greek,  in  Acta  sanctorum,  Sept- 
t.  vii.  pp.  279-343,  especially  page  293. 


CHAP.  XVII 


THE  HERMIT  TEMPER 


391 


piety  ( impia  pietate ) decided  to  send  men  to  kill  him,  think- 
ing that  since  they  could  not  retain  him  alive,  they  would 
have  his  corpse  as  a protection  for  the  land  (pro  patrocinio 
terrae).  Knowing  of  this,  Romuald  shaved  his  head,  and 
as  the  murderers  approached  his  cell  in  the  dusk  of  morning, 
he  began  to  eat  ravenously.  Thinking  him  demented,  they 
did  him  no  injury.  He  then  set  forth,  staff  in  hand,  and 
walked  from  the  centre  of  Gaul,  even  to  Ravenna.  There 
finding  his  father  still  seeking  to  return  to  the  world,  he  tied 
the  old  sinner’s  feet  to  a beam,  fettered  him  with  chains, 
flogged  him,  and  at  length  by  pious  severity  so  subjugated 
his  flesh  that  with  God’s  aid  he  brought  his  mind  back  to  a 
state  of  salvation.1 

Thus  far  Romuald’s  life  affords  striking  illustration  of 
the  fact  that  prodigious  austerities  and  the  consequent  repute 
for  miracles  were  the  chief  elements  in  mediaeval  sainthood ; 
also  of  the  fact  that  the  saint’s  dead  body  might  be  as  good 
as  he.  But  while  he  lived,  Romuald  was  much  more  than 
a miracle-working  relic.  He  was  a strong,  domineering 
personality.  It  was  soon  after  he  brought  his  father  back 
to  the  way  of  holiness  that  the  old  man  saw  a vision,  and 
happily  yielded  up  the  ghost.  The  son  continued  to 
advance  in  his  chosen  way  of  life  and  in  the  elements  of 
character  which  it  fostered.  He  became  a prodigious 
solitary ; one  to  whom  men  and  their  ways  were  intolerable, 
and  who  himself  was  sometimes  found  intolerable  by  men. 
Even  his  appearance  might  be  exceptional : 

“The  venerable  man  dwelt  for  a while  in  a swamp  (near 
Ferrara).  At  length  the  poisonous  air  and  the  stench  of  the 
marsh  drove  him  out;  and  he  emerged  hairless,  with  his  flesh 
puffed  and  swollen  (tumef actus  et  depilatus),  not  looking  as  if 
belonging  to  the  genus  homo ; for  he  was  as  green  as  a newt.”  2 

Such  a story  displays  the  very  extravagance  of  fleshly 
mortification.  It  has  also  its  local  colour.  But  one  should 
seek  its  explanation  in  the  grounds  of  the  hermit  life  as  set 
forth  by  Peter  Damiani.  Then  the  incidents  of  Romuald’s 
life  will  appear  to  spring  from  these  hermit  motives  and 
from  the  hermit  temperament,  which  became  of  terrible 


1 Vita  Romualdi,  cap.  13. 


2 Ibid.  cap.  20. 


392 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


intensity  with  him.  Also  the  egotism,  so  frequently  an 
element  of  that  temperament,  rose  with  him  to  spiritual 
megalomania : 

“One  day  (apparently  in  the  latter  part  of  his  life)  some 
disciples  asked  him,  ‘Master,  of  what  age  does  the  soul  appear, 
and  in  what  form  is  it  presented  for  judgment?’  He  replied,  ‘I 
know  a man  in  Christ,  whose  soul  is  brought  before  God  shining 
like  snow,  and  indeed  in  human  form,  with  the  stature  of  the 
perfect  time  of  life.’  Asked  again  who  that  man  might  be,  he 
would  not  speak  for  indignation.  And  then  the  disciples  talked 
it  over,  and  recognized  that  he  was  certainly  the  man.”  1 

In  another  part  of  the  Vita,  Damiani,  having  told  of 
his  hero’s  sojourn  with  a company  of  hermits  who  preferred 
their  will  to  his,  thus  continues:  “Romuald,  therefore, 
impatient  of  sterility,  began  to  search  with  anxious  eager- 
ness where  he  might  find  a soil  fit  to  bear  a fruitage  of 
souls.”  It  was  his  passion  to  change  men  to  anchorites : 
he  yearned  to  convert  the  whole  world  to  the  solitary  life. 
Many  were  the  hermit  communities  which  he  established. 
But  he  could  not  endure  his  hermit  sons  for  long,  nor  they 
him.  His  intolerant  soul  revolted  from  the  give-and-take 
of  intercourse.  Such  intolerance  and  his  passion  to  make 
more  converts  drove  him  from  place  to  place.  He  seemed 
inspired  with  a superhuman  power  of  drawing  men  from 
the  world.  Now 

“therefore  he  sent  messengers  to  the  Counts  of  Camerino.  When 
these  heard  the  name  Romuald  they  were  beside  themselves 
with  joy,  and  placed  their  possessions,  mountains,  woods,  and 
fields  at  his  disposal,  to  select  from.  He  chose  a spot  suited  to 
the  hermit  way  of  living,  intrenched  amid  forests  and  mountains, 
and  affording  an  ample  space  of  level  fruitful  ground,  watered  with 
crystal  streams.  The  place  was  called  of  old  the  Valley  of  the 
Camp  (Vallis  de  Castro),  and  a little  church  was  there  with  a 
convent  of  women  who  had  turned  from  the  world.  Here  having 
built  their  cells,  the  venerable  man  and  his  disciples  took  up 
their  abode. 

“And  what  fruitage  of  souls  the  Lord  there  won  through  him, 
pen  cannot  describe  nor  tongue  relate.  From  all  directions  men 
began  to  pour  in  for  penance,  and  in  pity  to  give  away  their  goods 
to  the  poor,  while  others  utterly  forsook  the  world  and  with  fervent 

1 Vila  Romualdi,  cap.  51. 


CHAP.  XVII 


THE  HERMIT  TEMPER 


393 


spirit  hastened  to  the  holy  way  of  life.  For  this  most  blessed  man 
was  as  one  of  the  Seraphim,  himself  burning  with  the  flame  of 
divine  love,  and  kindling  others,  wherever  he  went,  with  the  fires 
of  his  holy  preaching.  Often,  while  speaking,  a vast  contrition 
brought  him  to  such  floods  of  tears  that,  breaking  off  his  sermon, 
he  would  flee  anywhere  for  refuge,  like  one  demented.  And  also 
when  travelling  on  horseback  with  the  brethren,  he  followed  far 
behind  them,  always  singing  psalms,  as  if  he  were  in  his  cell,  and 
never  ceasing  to  shed  tears.”  1 

In  that  age,  the  hopes  and  fears  and  wonderment  of 
men  looked  to  the  recluse  as  the  perfected  saint.  No  wonder 
that  those  Italian  lands,  so  blithely  sinful  and  so  grievously 
penitent,  were  moved  by  this  volcanic  tempest  of  a man, 
fierce,  merciless  to  the  flesh,  convulsed  with  scorching  tears, 
famed  for  austerities  and  miracles.  He  lashed  men  from 
their  sins ; men  feared  before  one  whose  presence  was  a 
threat  of  hell.  Said  the  Marquis  of  Tuscany:  “Not  the 

emperor  nor  any  mortal  man,  can  put  such  fear  in  me  as 
Romuald’s  look.  Before  his  face  I know  not  what  to  say, 
nor  how  to  defend  myself  or  find  excuses.”  And  the 
biographer  adds  that  “of  a truth  the  holy  man  had  this 
grace  from  the  divine  favour,  that  sinners,  and  especially  the 
great  of  this  world,  quaked  in  their  bowels  before  him  as  if 
before  the  majesty  of  God.” 

But  some  men  hated,  and  especially  those  of  his  own 
persuasion  who  could  not  endure  his  harshness..  From 
such  came  attempts  at  murder ; from  such  also  came 
milder  outbreaks  of  detestation  and  revolt.  No  other 
founder  of  ascetic  communities  seems  to  have  been  so 
rebelled  against.  He  went  from  the  Valley  of  the  Camp 
to  Classe,  where  a simoniac  abbot  attempted  to  strangle 
him;  then  he  returned,  but  not  for  long,  for  the  abbot 
established  in  his  place  rejected  his  reproofs,  and  maligned 
him  with  the  lords  of  the  land.  “And  in  that  way,”  says 
Damiani,  “the  tall  cedar  of  Paradise  was  cast  forth  from  the 
forest  of  earthly  men.”  3 

His  next  sojourn  was  Vallombrosa,  where  after  his 
decease  one  of  his  disciples  was  to  found  a famous  cloister. 
From  that  nest  in  the  Tuscan  Apennines,  he  went  to  dwell 


1 Vita  Romualdi,  cap.  35. 


2 Ibid.  cap.  40. 


3 Ibid.  cap.  45. 


394 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


permanently  on  the  Umbrian  mount  of  Sytrio.  At  this 
point  his  biographer  proceeds  : 

“ Whoever  hears  that  the  holy  man  so  often  changed  his 
habitation  must  not  ascribe  this  to  the  vice  of  levity.  For  the 
cause  of  these  changes  was  that  wherever  he  stayed,  an  almost 
countless  crowd  assembled,  and  when  he  saw  one  place  filled  with 
converts  he  very  properly  would  appoint  a prior  and  at  once 
hasten  to  fill  another. 

“In  Sytrio  what  insults  and  what  indignities  he  endured  from 
his  disciples ! We  will  set  down  one  instance,  and  omit  the  rest 
for  brevity.  There  was  a disciple  named  Romanus,  noble  by 
birth,  but  ignoble  by  deed.  Him  the  holy  man  for  his  carnal 
impurity  not  only  chided  by  word  but  corrected  with  heavy  beat- 
ings. That  diabolic  man  dared  to  retort  with  the  fabrication  of 
the  same  charge,  and  to  bark  with  sacrilegious  mouth  against  this 
temple  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  saying  forsooth  that  the  holy  man  was 
spotted  with  this  same  infection.  The  rage  of  the  disciples  broke 
out  immediately  against  Romuald.  All  were  his  enemies : some 
declared  that  the  wicked  old  man  ought  to  be  hanged  from  a 
gallows,  others  that  he  should  be  burned  in  his  cell. 

“One  cannot  understand  how  spiritual  men  could  have  be- 
lieved such  wickedness  of  a decrepit  old  man,  whose  frigid  blood 
and  aridity  of  attenuated  frame  would  have  forbade  him,  had  he 
had  the  will.  But  doubtless  it  is  to  be  deemed  that  this  scourge 
of  adversity  came  upon  the  holy  man  by  the  will  of  Heaven,  to 
augment  his  merit.  For  he  said  himself  that  he  had  foreknown 
it  with  certainty  in  the  solitude  which  he  had  left  just  before, 
and  had  come  with  alacrity  to  undergo  this  shame.  But  that 
false  monkish  reprobate  who  brought  the  charge  against  the  holy 
man,  afterwards  became  Bishop  of  Noceria  through  simony, 
and  in  the  first  year  of  his  occupancy,  saw,  as  he  deserved,  his 
house  with  his  books  and  bells  and  the  rest  of  his  sacred  para- 
phernalia burned;  and  in  the  second  year,  the  divine  sentence 
struck  him  and  he  wretchedly  lost  both  his  dignity  and  his  life. 

“In  the  meanwhile  the  disciples  put  a penance  on  the  holy 
man  as  if  he  had  been  guilty,  and  deprived  him  of  the  right  to 
celebrate  the  holy  mysteries.  He  willingly  accepted  this  false 
judgment,  and  took  his  penance  like  a culprit,  not  presuming  to 
approach  the  altar  for  well-nigh  six  months.  At  length,  as  he 
afterwards  told  his  disciples,  he  was  divinely  commanded  to 
celebrate  mass.  On  the  next  day,  when  proceeding  with  the 
sacrifice,  he  became  rapt  in  ecstasy,  and  continued  speechless  for 
so  long  a time  that  all  present  marvelled.  When  afterwards  asked 


CHAP.  XVII 


THE  HERMIT  TEMPER 


395 


the  reason  of  his  delay,  he  replied : * Carried  into  heaven,  I was 
borne  before  God ; and  the  divine  voice  commanded  me,  that  with 
such  intelligence  as  God  had  set  in  me,  I should  write  and  com- 
mend for  use  a Commentary  on  the  Psalms.  Overcome  with 
terror,  I could  only  respond : so  let  it  be,  so  let  it  be/  For  this 
reason  the  holy  man  made  a Commentary  on  the  whole  Psalter; 
and  although  its  grammar  was  bad,  its  sense  was  sound  and 
clear.”  1 

Various  attempts  were  made  in  the  Middle  Ages  to 
render  the  hermit  life  practicable,  through  permitting  a 
limited  intercourse  among  a cluster  of  like-minded  ascetics, 
as  well  as  to  regulate  it  under  the  direction  of  a superior. 
In  Italy,  in  the  tenth  and  eleventh  centuries,  the  picturesque 
energy  of  the  individual  hermit  is  prodigious,  while  in  the 
north,  as  in  the  establishment  of  the  Carthusian  Order,  the 
organization  is  better,  the  result  more  permanent,  but  the 
imaginative  and  consistent  extravagance  of  personality  is 
not  there.  In  the  hermit  communities  founded  by  Romuald 
there  was  a prior  or  abbot,  invested  with  some  authority. 
Yet  the  organization  was  less  complete  than  in  coenobitic 
monasteries;  for  Romuald's  hermit  methods  sought  to 
minimize  the  intercourse  among  the  brethren,  to  an  extent 
which  was  scarcely  compatible  with  effective  organization. 
An  idea  of  these  communities  may  be  had  from  Damiani’s 
description  of  one  of  them : 

“Such  was  the  mode  of  life  in  Sytrio,  that  not  only  in  name  but 
in  fact  it  was  as  another  Nytria.2  The  brethren  went  barefoot; 
unkempt  and  haggard ; they  were  content  with  the  barest  neces- 
saries. Some  were  shut  in  with  doomed  doors  (damnatis  januis), 
seemingly  as  dead  to  the  world  as  if  in  a tomb.  Wine  was  un- 
known, even  in  extreme  illness.  Even  the  attendants  of  the 
monks  ( famuli  monachorum)  and  those  who  kept  the  cattle, 
fasted  and  preserved  silence.  They  made  regulations  among 
themselves,  and  laid  penances  for  speaking.”  3 

For  seven  years  Romuald  lived  at  Sytrio  as  an  inclusus, 
shut  up  in  his  cell,  and  preserving  unbroken  silence.  Yet 
though  his  tongue  was  dumb  his  life  was  eloquent.  He 
lived  on,  setting  a shining  example  of  squalor  and  austerity, 

1 Vita,  caps.  49,  50. 

2 The  Syrian  region  famous  for  its  early  anchorites. 

3 Vila  Romualdi,  cap.  6\. 


396 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


eating  only  vile  food,  and  handing  back  untouched  any 
savoury  morsel.  His  conflicts  with  the  devil  continued ; nor 
was  he  ever  vanquished.  Advancing  years  intensified  his 
aversion  to  human  society  and  his  passion  for  solitude.  In 
proportion  as  he  made  his  ways  displeasing  to  men,  his 
self-approval  was  enhanced.1  A solitary  death  kept  tally 
with  the  temper  of  a recluse  life. 

“When  he  saw  his  end  draw  near  he  returned  to  the  Valley  of 
the  Camp,  and  had  a cell  with  an  oratory  prepared,  in  which  to 
immure  himself  and  keep  silence  until  death.  Twenty  years 
before,  he  had  foretold  to  his  disciples  that  there  he  should  attain 
his  peace ; and  had  declared  his  wish  to  breathe  forth  his  spirit 
with  no  one  standing  by  or  bestowing  the  last  rites.  When  this 
cell  of  immurement  ( reclusorium ) was  ready,  his  mind  was  set 
upon  immediate  inclusion.  But  his  body  grew  heavy  with  the 
increasing  ills  of  extreme  age,  and  the  hard  breathing  of  tussis. 
Yet  not  for  this  would  the  holy  man  lie  on  a bed  or  relax  his  fasts. 
One  day  his  strength  gradually  forsook  him,  and  he  found  himself 
sinking  with  fatigue.  So  as  the  sun  was  setting  he  directed  two 
brothers  who  stood  by  to  go  out  and  shut  the  door  of  his  cell  after 
them.  He  told  them  that  when  the  time  came  for  them  to 
celebrate  the  matin  hymns  at  dawn,  they  might  return.  Un- 
willingly they  went  out,  but  did  not  go  at  once  to  rest;  and 
waited  anxiously,  concealing  themselves  by  the  master’s  cell. 
After  a while,  as  they  listened  intent  and  could  hear  no  movement 
of  his  body  nor  any  sound  of  his  voice,  correctly  conjecturing  what 
had  happened,  they  broke  open  the  door,  rushed  in  and  lighted 
the  light ; and  there,  the  blessed  soul  having  been  transported  to 
heaven,  they  found  the  holy  corpse  supine.  It  lay  as  a celestial 
pearl  neglected,  but  hereafter  to  be  placed  with  honour  in  the 
treasury  of  the  King.”  2 

The  spiritual  unity  which  lies  beneath  the  actions 
of  Romuald  should  be  sought  in  the  reasons  and  temper  of 
the  hermit  life.  To  perfect  the  soul  for  its  passage  to 
eternity  is  the  fundamental  motive.  Monastic  logic  con- 
vinces the  man  that  this  can  best  be  accomplished  through 
withdrawal  from  the  temptations  of  the  world;  and  the 
hermit  temper  draws  irresistibly  to  solitude.  The  only 

1 Cf.  Sackiir,  Die  Cluniacenser,  i.  328  note. 

2 Vita  Romualdi,  69. 


CHAP.  XVII 


THE  HERMIT  TEMPER 


397 


consistent  social  function  left  to  such  a man  is  that  of 
turning  the  steps  of  his  fellows  to  his  own  recluse  path  of 
perfection.  Romuald’s  life  manifests  such  motives  and  such 
temper,  and  also  this  one  function  passionately  performed. 
We  see  in  him  no  love  of  kind,  but  only  a fiery  passion  for 
their  salvation.  Also  we  see  the  absorption  of  self  in  self 
with  God,  the  harsh  intolerance  of  other  men,  the  fierce 
aversions  and  the  passionate  cravings  which  are  germane  to 
the  hermit  life. 

Physical  self-mortification  is  the  element  of  the  hermit 
life  most  difficult  for  modern  people  to  understand.  Yet 
nothing  in  Romuald  extorted  more  entire  admiration  from 
his  biographer  than  his  austerities.  And  if  there  was  one 
man  on  earth  whom  Peter  admired  as  much  as  he  did 
Romuald,  it  was  a certain  mail-coated  Dominicus,  a virtuoso 
in  self -mortification.  He  exhibits  its  purging  and  penitential 
motives.  Scourging  purifies  the  body  from  carnality;  that 
is  one  motive.  It  also  atones  for  sins,  and  lessens  the  purga- 
torial period  after  death;  this  is  another.  There  is  a third 
which  is  rooted  rather  in  temperament  than  in  reason.  This 
is  contrition ; the  contrite  heart  may  love  to  flagellate  itself 
in  love  of  Him  who  suffered  sinless. 

Dominicus  was  surnamed  Loricatus  because  he  wore 
a coat  of  mail  against  the  attacks  of  the  devil  through  the 
frailties  of  the  too-comfortable  flesh.  In  his  youth,  family 
influence  had  installed  him  in  a snug  ecclesiastic  berth. 
As  he  reached  maturity  and  bethought  himself,  the  sense 
of  this  involuntary  simoniacal  contamination  filled  him  with 
remorse.  He  abjured  the  world  and  became  a member  of 
the  hermit  community  of  Fonte  Avellana,  where  Damiani 
exercised  the  authority  of  prior.  Yet  the  latter  looked  on 
Dominic  as  his  master,  whom  he  admired  to  the  pitch  of 
marvel,  while  regretting  that  he  lacked  himself  the  strength 
and  leisure  to  equal  his  flagellations.  So  Peter  was 
enraptured  with  this  wonder  of  a Dominic,  and  wrote  his 
biography,  which  deserved  telling  if,  as  Peter  says,  his 
entire  life,  his  tota  quippe  vita,  was  a preaching  and  an 
edification,  instruction  and  discipline  ( praedicatio , aedificatio, 
doctrina,  disci plina) . 

One  descriptive  passage  from  it  will  suffice : 


398 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


“I  am  speaking  of  Dominic,  my  teacher  and  my  master, 
whose  tongue  indeed  is  rustic,  but  whose  life  is  polished  and 
accomplished  ( artificiosa  satis  et  lepida).  His  life  indeed  preaches 
more  effectively  by  its  living  actions  (vivis  operibus)  than  a barren 
tongue  which  inanely  weighs  out  the  balanced  phrases  of  a be- 
spangled urbanity  ( phaleratae  urbanitatis) . Through  a long  course 
of  gliding  years,  girt  with  iron  mail,  he  has  waged  truceless  war 
against  the  wicked  spirits ; with  cuirassed  body  and  heart  always 
ready  for  battle,  he  marches  eager  warrior  against  the  hostile  array. 

“Likewise  it  is  his  regular  and  unremitting  habit,  with  a rod 
in  each  hand  every  day  to  beat  time  upon  his  naked  body,  and 
thus  scourge  out  two  psalters.  And  this  even  in  the  slacker 
season.  For  in  Lent  or  when  he  has  a penance  to  perform  (and 
he  often  undertakes  a penance  of  a hundred  years),  each  day, 
while  he  plies  himself  with  his  rods,  he  pays  off  at  least  three 
psalters  repeating  them  mentally  (meditando) . 

“The  penance  of  a hundred  years  is  performed  thus:  With 
us  three  thousand  blows  satisfies  a year  of  penance;  and  the 
chanting  ( modulatio ) of  ten  psalms,  as  has  often  been  tested, 
admits  one  thousand  blows.  Now,  clearly,  as  the  Psalter  consists 
of  one  hundred  and  fifty  psalms,  any  one  computing  correctly  will 
see  that  five  years  of  penance  lie  in  chanting  one  psalter,  with  this 
discipline.  Now,  whether  you  take  five  times  twenty  or  twenty 
times  five  you  have  a hundred.  Consequently  whoever  chants 
twenty  psalters,  with  this  accompanying  discipline,  may  be  con- 
fident of  having  performed  a hundred  years  of  penance.  Herein 
our  Dominic  outdoes  those  who  struck  with  only  one  hand;  for 
he,  a true  son  of  Benjamin,  wars  indefatigably  with  both  hands 
against  the  rebellious  allurements  of  the  flesh.  He  has  told  me 
himself  that  he  easily  accomplishes  a penance  of  a hundred  years 
in  six  days.”  1 

This  loricated  Dominic  was  conscious  of  his  virtuosity. 
We  find  him  at  the  beginning  of  a certain  Lent,  requesting 
the  imposition  of  a penance  of  a thousand  years ! Again, 
he  comes  after  vespers  to  Damiani’s  cell  to  tell  him  that 
between  morning  and  evening  he  has  broken  his  record 
by  “doing”  eight  psalters!  And  once  more  we  read  of  his 
coming  troubled  to  his  master,  saying:  “You  have  written, 
as  I have  just  heard,  that  in  one  day  I chanted  nine  psalters 
with  corporeal  discipline.  When  I heard  it,  I turned  pale 

1 Peter  Damiani,  Vitae  SS.  Rodulphi  et  Dominici  loricati,  cap.  8 (Migne  144, 
col.  1015). 


CHAP.  XVII 


THE  HERMIT  TEMPER 


399 


and  groaned.  ‘Woe  is  me/  I said;  ‘without  my  knowledge, 
this  has  been  written  of  me,  and  yet  I do  not  know  whether 
I could  do  it.’  So  I am  going  to  try  again,  and  I shall  cer- 
tainly find  out.”  1 

Dominic  probably  derived  more  pleasure  than  pain  from 
his  scourgings.  For  besides  the  vanity  of  achievement,  and 
some  ecstasy  of  contrition,  the  flesh  itself  turns  morbid  and 
rejoices  in  its  laceration.  Yet  such  austerity  is  pre-eminently 
penal,  and  is  initially  impelled  by  fear.  With  Dominic, 
with  Romuald,  with  Damiani,  the  fear  of  hell  entered  the 
motives  of  the  secluded  life.  To  observe  this  fear  writ  large 
in  panic  terror,  we  turn  to  the  old  legend  regarding  the  con- 
version of  Bruno  of  Cologne,  the  founder  of  the  Carthusian 
Order.  The  scene  is  laid  in  Paris,  where  (with  much  im- 
probability) Bruno  is  supposed  to  be  studying  in  the  year 
1082.  One  of  the  most  learned  and  pious  of  the  doctors 
of  theology  died.  His  funeral  had  been  celebrated,  and  his 
body  was  about  to  be  carried  to  the  grave,  when  the  corpse 
raised  its  head  and  cried  aloud  with  a dreadful  voice : 
“Justo  Dei  judicio  accusatus  sum.”  Then  the  head  fell 
back.  The  people,  terror-stricken,  postponed  the  interment 
to  the  following  day,  when  again,  as  before,  with  a grievous 
and  terrible  voice  the  corpse  raised  its  head  and  cried : 
“Justo  Dei  judicio  judicatus  sum.”  Amid  general  terror 
the  interment  was  again  postponed  to  the  next  day,  when, 
as  before,  with  a horrible  cry  the  corpse  shrieked:  “Justo 
Dei  judicio  condemnatus  sum.” 

At  this,  Bruno,  impressed  and  terrified,  said  to  his 
friends:  “Beloved,  what  shall  we  do?  Unless  we  fly  we 
shall  all  perish  utterly.  Let  us  renounce  the  world,  and, 
like  Anthony  and  John  the  Baptist,  seek  the  caves  of  the 
desert,  that  we  may  escape  the  wrath  of  the  Judge,  and 
reach  the  port  of  salvation.”  So  they  flee,  and  the  Carthusian 
Order,  with  its  terrific  asceticism,  begins.2 

1 Ibid.  cap.  10  (Migne  144,  col.  1015). 

2 This  story  is  told  in  all  the  early  lives  of  Bruno,  the  Vita  antiquior,  the  Vita 
altera,  and  the  Vita  tertia  (Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  152,  col.  482,  493,  and  525).  These 
lives,  especially  the  Vita  altera,  are  interesting  illustrations  of  the  ascetic  spirit, 
which,  as  might  be  expected,  also  moulds  Bruno’s  thoughts  and  his  understanding 
of  Scripture.  All  of  which  appears  in  his  long  Expositio  in  Psalmos  (Migne,  Pat. 
Lat.  152).  To  us,  for  example,  the  note  of  the  twenty-third  (in  the  Vulgate  the 
twenty-second)  psalm  is  love;  to  Bruno  it  is  disciplinary  guidance:  the  Lord 


400 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


This  story,  aside  from  its  marvellous  character,  does  not 
harmonize  with  the  more  authentic  facts  of  Bruno’s  life.  It 
is,  however,  a striking  expression  of  the  ascetic  fear ; it  also 
reflects  psychologic  truth.  Who  but  the  man  himself  knows 
the  naughtiness  of  his  own  heart?  its  never-to-be-disclosed 
vile  and  morbid  thoughts?  The  modern  may  realize  this. 
Hamlet  did.  And  it  was  just  such  a phase  of  self-conscious- 
ness as  the  mediaeval  imagination  would  transform  into  a 
tale  of  horror.  Bruno  himself  had  been  a learned  doctor,  a 
teacher,  and  the  head  of  the  cathedral  school  at  Rheims; 
he  had  been  a zealous  soldier  of  the  Church.  In  all  this 
he  had  not  found  peace.  The  profession  of  a doctor  of 
theology,  even  when  coupled  with  more  active  belligerency 
for  the  Church,  afforded  no  certain  salvation.  The  story  of 
the  Paris  doctor  may  have  symbolized  the  anxieties  which 
dwelt  in  Bruno’s  breast,  until  under  their  stimulus  the 
yearnings  of  a solitary  temper  gathered  head  and  at  last 
brought  him  with  six  followers  to  Carthusia  {la  grande 
Chartreuse ),  which  lies  to  the  north  of  Grenoble.  1048 
is  the  year  of  its  beginning. 

It  was  a hermit  community,  the  brethren  living  two  by 
two  in  isolated  cells,  but  meeting  for  divine  service  in  a little 
chapel.  Camaldoli  may  have  been  the  model.  Bruno 
■wrote  no  regula  for  his  followers,  and  the  practices  of  the 
Order  were  first  formulated  by  Guigo,  the  fifth  prior,  in 
his  Consuetudines  Cartusiae , about  the  year  1130.1  These 
permit  a limited  intercourse  among  the  brethren,  for  the 
service  of  God  and  the  regulation  of  their  own  lives.  Yet 
the  broader  object  was  seclusion.  Not  only  severance  from 
the  world,  but  the  seclusion  of  the  brethren  from  each  other, 
in  solitary  labour  and  contemplation,  was  their  ideal.  The 
asceticism  of  these  Consuetudines  is  of  the  strictest.  And 
somehow  it  would  seem  as  if  in  the  Carthusian  Order  the 
frailties  of  the  spirit  and  the  lust  of  the  flesh  were  to  be 


guides  me  in  the  place  of  pasture,  that  is,  He  is  my  guide  lest  I go  astray  in  the 
Scriptures,  where  the  souls  of  the  faithful  are  fed;  I shall  not  want,  that  is,  an  under- 
standing of  them  shall  not  fail  me.  Thy  rod,  that  is  the  lesser  tribulation,  thy  staff, 
that  is  the  greater  tribulation,  correct  and  chastise  me. 

1 Guigo  was  born  in  1083  at  St.  Romain  near  Valence,  of  noble  family  (like  most 
monks  of  prominence).  There  was  close  sympathy  between  him  and  St.  Bernard, 
as  their  letters  show.  Cf.  post,  Chapter  XVIII. 


CHAP.  XVII 


THE  HERMIT  TEMPER 


401 


permanently  vanquished  by  this  set  life  of  labour,  meditation, 
and  rigid  asceticism.  Carthusia  nunquam  reformata , quia 
nunquam  deformata , remained  true  century  after  century. 
This  long  freedom  from  corruption  was  partly  due  to  the 
lofty  and  somewhat  exclusive  character  of  the  brotherhood. 
Carthusia  was  no  broad  way  for  the  monastic  multitude.  Its 
monks  were  relatively  few  and  holy,  the  select  of  God.  Men 
of  devout  piety,  they  must  be.  It  was  also  needful  that  they 
should  be  possessed  of  such  intellectual  endowment  and 
meditative  capacity  as  would  with  God’s  grace  yield  provision 
for  a life  of  solitary  thought. 

The  intellectual  piety  of  Carthusia  finds  its  loftiest  ex- 
pression in  the  Meditationes  of  this  same  prior  Guigo,1 
the  form  of  which  calls  to  mind  the  Reflections  of  Marcus 
Aurelius  or  Epictetus.  In  substance  they  reflect  Augustine’s 
intellectual  devoutness  and  many  of  his  thoughts.  But  they 
seem  Guigo’s  very  own,  fruit  of  his  own  reflection ; and  thus 
incidentally  they  afford  an  illustration  of  the  general  principle 
that  by  the  twelfth  century  the  Middle  Ages  had  made  over 
into  themselves  what  they  had  drawn  from  the  Fathers 
or  from  the  pagan  antique.  Guigo’s  Meditationes  possess 
spiritual  calm ; their  logic  is  unhesitating ; it  is  remorselessly 
correct,  however  incomplete  may  be  its  premises  or  its  com- 
prehension of  life’s  data.  Whoever  wishes  to  know  the  high 
contemplative  mind  of  monastic  seclusion  in  the  twelfth 
century  may  learn  it  from  this  work.  A number  of  its 
precepts  are  given  here  for  the  sake  of  their  illustrative 
pertinency  and  intrinsic  merit,  and  because  our  author  is  not 
very  widely  known.  He  begins  with  general  reflections 
upon  Veritas  and  Pax  : 

“ Truth  should  be  set  in  the  middle,  as  something  beautiful. 
Nor,  if  any  one  abhors  it,  do  thou  condemn,  but  pity.  Thou 
indeed,  who  desirest  to  come  to  it,  why  dost  thou  spurn  it  when  it 
chides  thy  faults? 

“Without  form  and  comeliness  and  fastened  to  the  cross,  truth 
is  to  be  worshipped. 

“If  thou  speakest  truth  not  from  love  of  truth  but  from  wish 
to  injure  another,  thou  wilt  not  gain  the  reward  of  a truthspeaker 
but  the  punishment  of  a defamer. 


1 


2 D 


VOL.  I 


Migne  153,  col.  601-631. 


402 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


“Truth  is  life  and  eternal  salvation.  Therefore  you  ought  to 
pity  any  one  whom  it  displeases.  For  to  that  extent  he  is  dead 
and  lost.  But  you,  perverse  one,  would  not  tell  him  the  truth 
unless  you  thought  it  bitter  and  intolerable  to  him.  You  do 
still  worse  when  in  order  to  please  men  you  speak  a truth 
which  delights  them  as  much  as  if  it  were  lies  and  flattery.  Not 
because  it  displeases  or  pleases  should  truth  be  spoken,  but  as  it 
profits.  Yet  be  silent  when  it  would  do  harm,  as  light  to  weak 
eyes. 

“Blessed  is  he  whose  mind  is  moved  or  affected  only  by  the 
perception  and  love  of  truth,  and  whose  body  is  moved  only  by 
his  mind.  Thus  the  body,  like  the  mind,  is  moved  by  truth  alone. 
For  if  there  is  no  stirring  in  the  mind  save  that  of  truth,  and  none 
in  the  body  save  that  from  the  mind,  then  also  there  is  no  stirring 
in  the  body  save  from  truth,  that  is  from  God. 

“Thou  dost  all  things  for  the  sake  of  peace,  toward  which  the 
way  lies  through  truth  alone,  which  is  thine  adversary  in  this  life. 
Therefore  either  subject  thee  to  it  or  it  to  thee.  For  nothing  else 
is  left  thee. 

“The  lake  does  not  boast  because  it  abounds  in  water ; for  that 
is  from  the  source.  So  as  to  thy  peace.  Its  cause  is  always 
something  else.  Therefore  thy  peace  is  shifting  and  inconstant 
in  proportion  to  the  instability  of  its  cause.  How  worthless  is  it 
when  it  arises  from  the  pleasingness  of  a human  face ! 

“Let  not  temporal  things  be  the  cause  of  thy  peace;  for  then 
wilt  thou  be  as  worthless  and  fragile  as  they.  You  would  have 
such  a peace  in  common  with  the  brutes ; let  thine  be  that  of  the 
angels,  which  proceeds  from  truth. 

“The  beginning  of  the  return  to  truth  is  to  be  displeased  with 
falsity.  Blame  precedes  correction. 

“In  the  cares  which  engage  thee  for  thy  salvation,  no  service 
or  medicine  is  more  useful  than  to  blame  and  despise  thyself. 
Whoever  does  this  for  thee  is  thy  helper. 

“Easy  is  the  way  to  God,  since  it  advances  by  laying  down 
burdens.  So  far  then  unburden  thyself  that,  all  things  laid  aside, 
thou  mayest  deny  thyself. 

“When  anything  good  is  said  of  thee,  it  is  but  as  a rumour 
regarding  which  thou  knowest  better. 

“Consider  the  two  experiences  of  filling  and  emptying  {in- 
gestionis  et  egestionis ) ; which  blesses  thee  more  ? That  burdens 
thee  with  useless  matters;  this  disburdens  thee.  To  have  had 
that  is  to  have  devoured  it  altogether.  Nothing  remains  for  hope. 
So  in  all  things  of  sense.  They  perish  all.  And  what  of  thee  after 
these  ? Set  thy  love  and  hope  on  what  will  not  pass. 


CHAP.  XVII 


THE  HERMIT  TEMPER 


403 


“Bestial  pleasure  comes  from  the  senses  of  the  flesh;  it  is 
diabolic,  a thing  of  arrogance,  envy,  and  deceit;  philosophic 
pleasure  is  to  know  the  creature ; the  angelic  pleasure  is  to  know 
and  love  God. 

“When  we  take  our  pleasure  from  that  from  which  brutes  draw 
pleasure — from  lust  like  dogs,  or  from  gluttony  like  swine — our 
souls  become  like  theirs.  Yet  we  do  not  shudder.  I had  rather 
have  a dog’s  body  than  his  soul.  It  would  be  more  tolerable  if 
our  body  changed  to  bestial  shape,  while  our  soul  remained  in  its 
dignity,  that  is,  in  the  likeness  of  God. 

“ Readily  man  entangles  himself  in  love  of  bodies  and  of  vanity ; 
but,  willy,  nilly,  he  is  torn  with  fear  and  grief  at  their  dissolution. 
For  the  love  of  perishable  things  is  as  a fountain  of  useless  fears 
and  sorrows.  The  Lord  frees  the  poor  man  from  the  mighty,  by 
loosing  him  from  the  fetter  of  earthly  love. 

“The  human  soul  is  tortured  in  itself  as  long  as  it  can  be 
tortured,  that  is,  as  long  as  it  loves  anything  besides  God. 

“Thou  hast  been  clinging  to  one  syllable  of  a great  song, 
and  art  troubled  when  that  wisest  Singer  proceeds  in  His  singing. 
For  the  syllable  which  alone  thou  wast  loving  is  withdrawn  from 
thee,  and  others  succeed  in  order.  He  does  not  sing  to  thee 
alone,  nor  to  thy  will,  but  His.  The  syllables  which  succeed  are 
distasteful  to  thee  because  they  drive  on  that  one  which  thou  wast 
loving  evilly. 

“All  matters  which  are  called  adverse  are  adverse  only  to  the 
wicked,  that  is,  those  who  love  the  creature  instead  of  the  Creator. 

“If  in  any  way  thou  art  tormented  by  fear,  or  anger  or  hate 
or  pain  of  any  kind,  lay  it  to  thyself,  that  is,  to  thy  concupiscence, 
ignorance,  or  sloth.  And  if  any  one  wishes  to  injure  thee,  lay  that 
to  his  concupiscence.  Thy  distress  is  evidence  of  thy  sin  in  loving 
anything  destructible,  having  dismissed  God.  Thou  dost  grieve 
over  the  ruined  show ; lay  it  to  thee  and  thine  error  because  thou 
hast  been  cleaving  to  things  that  may  be  broken. 

“He  seeks  a long  temptation  who  seeks  a long  life. 

“What  God  has  not  loved  in  His  friends — power,  rank,  riches, 
dignities — do  not  thou  love  in  thine. 

“ Snares  thou  eatest,  drinkest,  wearest,  sleepest  in ; all  things 
are  snares. 

“We  are  exiles  through  love  and  wantonness  and  inclination, 
not  through  locality ; exiles  in  the  country  of  defilement,  of  dark 
passions,  of  ignorance,  of  wicked  loves  and  hates. 

“In  so  far  as  thou  lovest  thyself — that  is,  this  temporal  life — 
so  far  dost  thou  love  what  is  transitory. 

“Adverse  matters  do  not  make  thee  wretched,  but  rather  show 


404 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


thee  to  have  been  so ; prosperity  blinds  the  soul  by  covering  and 
increasing  misery,  not  by  removing  it. 

“Every  one  ought  to  love  all  men.  Whoever  wishes  another 
to  show  special  love  toward  him  is  a robber,  and  an  offender 
against  all. 

“Mixed  through  this  body,  thou  wast  wretched  enough;  for 
thou  wast  subject  to  all  its  corruptions,  even  to  the  bite  of  the 
flea  or  the  sorunculus.  This  did  not  suffice  thee.  Thou  hast 
mixed  thyself  up  with  other  quasi  bodies,  the  opinion  of  men, 
admiration,  love,  honour,  fear  and  the  like.  When  these  are 
harmed,  pain  comes  to  thee,  as  from  bodily  hurt.  Thy  honour  is 
hurt  when  contempt  is  shown  thee ; and  so  with  the  rest.  Think 
also  thus  regarding  bodily  forms. 

“Unless  thou  hast  despised  whatever  men  can  do  to  thwart 
or  aid  thee,  thou  wilt  not  be  able  to  contemn  their  disposition 
toward  thee,  their  hate  and  love,  their  opinions,  good  or  bad. 

“Why  dost  thou  wish  to  be  loved  by  men? 

“Who  rejoices  in  praise,  loses  praise. 

“Who  is  pained  or  angered  by  the  loss  of  any  temporal  thing, 
shows  himself  worth  what  he  has  lost. 

“No  thing  ought  to  wish  to  be  loved  as  good,  unless  it  blesses 
its  lover  for  the  very  reason  that  it  is  loved.  But  no  thing  does 
this  if  it  needs  its  lover,  or  is  helped  by  loving  or  being  loved  by 
another.  Most  cruel,  then,  is  the  thing  which  wishes  another 
to  place  affection  and  hope  on  it  when  it  cannot  benefit  that  other. 
The  devils  do  this,  who  wish  men  to  be  engrossed  in  their  service 
instead  of  God’s.  So  cry  to  thy  lovers,  Cease,  ye  wretched,  to 
admire  or  respect  or  honour  me ; for  I,  miserable  wretch,  can 
neither  aid  myself  nor  you,  but  rather  need  your  aid. 

“So  far  as  in  thee  is,  thou  hast  destroyed  all  men,  for  thou 
hast  put  thyself  between  them  and  God,  so  that  gazing  on  thee 
and  ignoring  God,  they  might  admire  and  praise  thee  alone. 
This  is  utterly  profitless  to  thee  and  them,  not  to  say  destructive. 

“Whatever  form  thou  dost  enjoy  is  as  the  male  to  thy  mind. 
For  thy  mind  yields  and  lies  down  to  it.  Thou  dost  not  assimilate 
it,  but  it  thee.  Its  image  endures,  like  an  idol  in  its  temple,  to 
which  thou  dost  sacrifice  neither  ox  nor  goat,  but  thy  rational  soul 
and  thy  body,  to  wit,  thy  whole  self,  when  thou  enjoyest  it. 

“See  how,  as  in  a wine-shop,  thou  dost  prostitute  thine  as  a 
venal  love,  and  to  the  measure  of  pay  weighest  thyself  out  to  men. 
In  this  wine-shop  he  receives  nothing  who  gives  nothing.  And 
yet  thou  wouldst  not  have  that  which  thou  dost  sell,  unless  freely 
from  above  it  had  been  given  to  thee  who  gave  nothing.  There- 
fore thou  hast  received  thy  pay. 


CHAP.  XVII 


THE  HERMIT  TEMPER 


405 


“ To  be  empty  and  removed  from  God  is  to  make  ready  for  lust. 

“Who  wishes  to  enjoy  thee  in  thyself,  deserves  from  thee  the 
thanks  of  flies  and  fleas  who  suck  thy  blood. 

“This  is  the  very  sum  of  human  depravity  to  forsake  the  better, 
which  is  God,  and  to  regard  the  lesser  and  cleave  to  them  by 
delighting  in  them — these  temporalities  ! 

“The  beetle  as  it  flies  sees  everything,  and  then  selects  nothing 
that  is  beautiful  or  wholesome  or  durable,  but  settles  down  upon 
dung.  So  thy  soul  in  mental  flight  ( intuitu  pervolans ) surveying 
heaven  and  earth  and  whatever  is  great  and  precious  therein, 
cleaves  to  non,e  of  these,  but  embraces  the  cheap  and  dirty  things 
occurring  to  its  thought.  Blush  for  this. 

“When  thou  pleadest  with  God  not  to  take  from  thee  some- 
thing to  which  thou  cleaves t by  desire,  it  is  as  if  an  adulteress 
caught  by  her  husband  in  the  act,  should  not  ask  pardon  for  her 
crime,  but  beg  him  not  to  interrupt  her  pleasure.  It  is  not  enough 
for  thee  to  go  wantoning  from  God,  but  thou  must  incline  Him  to 
save  and  approve  the  things  in  which  thou  takest  delight  to  thy 
undoing — the  forms  of  bodies,  their  savours  and  their  colours. 

“The  poverty  of  thine  inner  vision  of  God,  purblind  as  thou 
art,  although  He  is  there,  makes  thee  willing  to  go  out  of  doors 
from  thine  own  hearth,  refusing  to  linger  within  thyself,  as  in  the 
dark.  So  thou  hast  nothing  to  do  but  go  gaping  after  the  external 
forms  of  bodies  and  the  opinions  of  men.  Thou  dost  carry  thyself 
in  this  world  as  if  thou  hadst  come  hither  to  gaze  and  wonder  at 
the  forms  of  bodies. 

“May  God  be  gracious  to  thee,  that  the  feet  of  thy  mind  may 
find  no  resting-place,  so  that  somehow,  O soul,  thou  mayest  return 
to  the  Ark,  like  Noah’s  dove. 

“Prosperity  is  a snare,  adversity  the  knife  that  cuts  it; 
prosperity  imprisons  us  from  the  love  of  God;  adversity  is  the 
battering-ram  which  breaks  the  dungeon  in  pieces. 

“Since  you  are  taken  only  by  pleasure,  you  should  shun 
whatever  gives  it.  The  Christian  soul  is  safe  only  in  adversity. 
From  what  thou  cherishest  God  makes  thee  rods. 

“The  only  medicine  for  every  pain  and  torment  is  contempt 
for  whatever  in  thee  is  hurt  by  them,  and  the  turning  of  the 
mind  to  God. 

“As  many  carnal  pleasures  as  thou  spurnest,  just  so  many 
snares  of  the  devil  dost  thou  escape.  As  many  tribulations — 
especially  those  for  truth’s  sake — as  thou  dost  flee,  so  many 
salutary  remedies  thou  spurnest. 

“In  hope  thou  mayest  cherish  the  unripened  grain;  thus  love 
those  who  are  not  yet  good.  Be  such  toward  all  as  the  Truth 


406 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


has  shown  itself  toward  thee.  Just  as  it  has  sustained  and  loved 
thee  for  thy  betterment,  so  do  thou  sustain  and  love  men  in  order 
to  better  them. 

“You  are  set  as  a standard  to  blunt  the  darts  of  the  enemy, 
that  is,  to  destroy  evil  by  opposing  good  to  it.  You  should  never 
return  evil  for  evil,  except  perhaps  medicinally;  which  is  not  to 
return  evil  but  good. 

“If  to  cleave  to  God  is  thine  whole  and  only  good,  thine  whole 
and  only  evil  is  separation  from  Him. 

“Who  loves  all  will  be  saved  without  doubt ; but  who  is  loved 
by  men  will  not  for  that  reason  be  saved.” 

The  unity  of  these  Meditationes  lies  in  the  absolute 
manner  in  which  the  meditating  soul  attaches  itself  to  God 
as  its  whole  and  only  good.  Herein  Guigo’s  thoughts  are 
Augustinian.  One  notes  their  clear  intellectual  tone. 
Nothing  lures  the  thinker  from  his  aim  and  goal  of  God. 
He  abhors  whatever  might  distract  him ; and  as  to  all 
except  God  and  God’s  commands,  he  is  indifferent.  Guigo 
detests  impermanence  as  keenly  as  did  the  Brahmin  and 
Buddhist  meditators  of  India.  He  has  as  high  regard  as 
any  Indian  or  Greek  philosopher  for  a life  of  thought.  But 
there  are  differences  between  the  Carthusian  prior  and  the 
Greek  or  Indian  sage.  Guigo’s  renunciation  does  not  (from 
his  standpoint)  penetrate  life  as  deeply  as  Gotama’s ; for 
Guigo  renounces  only  things  comparatively  insignificant,  so 
utterly  transient  are  they,  so  completely  they  pale  before 
the  light  of  his  goal  of  God.  Therein  shall  lie  clearer 
attainment  than  lay  at  the  end  of  any  Indian  chain  of 
reasoning.  So  note  well,  that  Guigo,  like  other  Christians, 
is  not  essentially  a renouncer,  but  one  who  attains  and 
receives. 

The  difference  between  him  and  the  Greek  is  also 
patent.  The  source  of  his  blue  lake  of  thought  is  not 
himself,  but  God.  Although  calm  and  sustained  by  reason, 
he  is  rationally  the  opposite  of  self-reliant,  and  so  the 
opposite  of  the  ideal  Stoic  or  Aristotelian.  God  is  his 
Creator,  the  source  of  his  thoughts,  the  loadstar  of  his 
meditations,  the  all-comprehending  object  of  his  desire. 

We  find  in  Guigo  further  specific  elements  of  Christian 
asceticism,  which  sharpen  his  repugnances  for  the  world  of 


CHAP.  XVII 


THE  HERMIT  TEMPER 


407 


transient  phenomena.  Those  phenomena  mostly  contain 
elements  of  sin : all  pleasure  is  temptation  and  a snare ; 
adversity  keeps  the  soul’s  wings  trimmed  true.  So  the 
main  content  of  passing  mortal  life,  while  not  evil  in  itself, 
is  so  charged  with  temptation  and  allure,  that  it  is  worthy 
only  of  avoidance.  The  transient,  the  physical,  the  brutal, 
the  diabolic — one  shades  into  the  next,  and  leads  on  to  the 
last.  Have  none  of  them,  O Soul ! They  are  snares  all. 

Of  course,  Guigo  has  the  specific  monkish  horror  of 
sexual  lust,  that  chief  of  fleshly  snares.  But  he  goes  further. 
With  him  all  particular,  disproportionate  love  is  wrong; 
love  no  one,  and  desire  not  to  be  loved,  out  of  the  pro- 
portionment  of  the  common  love  which  God  has  for  all  His 
creatures : so  love  you,  and  not  otherwise.  Others,  even 
women,  attained  this  standard.  In  the  legend,  St.  Elizabeth 
of  Hungary  gives  thanks  that  she  loves  her  own  children  no 
more  than  others’.  She  is  no  mother,  but  a saint.  So 
Guigo  will  love  all — love  indeed?  one  queries.  Thus  also 
will  he  have  others  hold  themselves  toward  him,  lest  he 
be  a stumbling-block  in  their  or  his  salvation. 

Yea,  salvation ! If  indeed  this  monk  shall  not  have 
attained  that,  of  a truth  he  would  be  of  all  men  most  miser- 
able— save  for  the  quiet,  thought-filled  calm  which  is  his 
inner  and  his  veritable  life.  It  is  a calm  not  riven  by  the 
storms  which  drove  the  soul  of  Peter  Damiani.  God  was 
not  less  to  Guigo ; but  the  temperaments  of  the  two  men 
differed.  Nor  beyond  or  out  of  one’s  nature  can  one  love 
or  yearn,  or  even  know  the  stress  of  storm. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


THE  QUALITY  OF  LOVE  IN  SAINT  BERNARD 

Through  the  prodigious  power  of  his  personality,  St. 
Bernard  gave  new  life  to  monasticism,  promoted  the  reform 
of  the  secular  clergy  and  the  suppression  of  heresy,  ended 
a papal  schism,  set  on  foot  the  Second  Crusade,  and  for  a 
quarter  of  a century  swayed  Christendom  as  never  holy  man 
before  or  after  him.  An  adequate  account  of  his  career 
would  embrace  the  entire  history  of  the  first  half  of  the 
twelfth  century.1 

The  man  who  was  to  move  men  with  his  love,  and  quell 
the  proud  with  fear,  had,  as  a youth,  a graceful  figure,  a 
sweet  countenance,  and  the  most  winning  manners.  Later 
in  life  he  is  spoken  of  as  cheerfully  bearing  reproaches,  but 
shamefaced  at  praise,  and  his  gentle  manners  are  again 
mentioned. 

“As  a helpmeet  for  his  holy  spirit,  God  made  his  body  to 
conform.  In  his  flesh  there  was  visible  a certain  grace,  but 
spiritual  rather  than  of  the  flesh.  A brightness  not  of  earth  shone 
in  his  look ; there  was  an  angelic  purity  in  his  eyes,  and  a dove- 
like  simplicity.  The  beauty  of  the  inner  man  was  so  great  that  it 
would  burst  forth  in  visible  tokens,  and  the  outer  man  would  seem 
bathed  from  the  store  of  inward  purity  and  copious  grace.  His 
frame  was  of  the  slightest  {tenuis simum),  and  most  spare  of  flesh; 
a blush  often  tinged  the  delicate  skin  of  his  cheeks.  And  a certain 
natural  heat  {quidquid  caloris  natur alts')  was  in  him,  arising  from 
assiduous  meditation  and  penitent  zeal.  His  hair  was  bright 


1 A bibliography  of  what  has  been  written  on  Bernard  would  make  a volume. 
His  own  writings  and  the  Vitae  and  Acta  (as  edited  by  Mabillon)  are  printed  in  Migne, 
tomes  182-185.  The  Vie  de  Saint  Bernard,  by  the  abbe  Vacandard,  in  two  volumes, 
is  to  be  recommended  (2nd  ed.,  Paris,  1897). 

408 


CHAP.  XVIII 


SAINT  BERNARD 


409 


yellow,  his  beard  reddish  with  some  white  hairs  toward  the  end  of 
his  life.  Actually  of  medium  stature,  he  looked  taller.”  1 

This  same  biography  says  : 

“He  who  had  set  him  apart,  from  his  mother’s  womb,  for  the 
work  of  a preacher,  had  given  him,  with  a weak  body,  a voice 
sufficiently  strong  and  clear.  His  speech,  whatever  persons  he 
spoke  to  for  the  edifying  of  souls,  was  adapted  to  his  audience ; 
for  he  knew  the  intelligence,  the  habits  and  occupations  of  each 
and  all.  To  country  folk  he  spoke  as  if  born  and  bred  in  the 
country;  and  so  to  other  classes,  as  if  he  had  been  always  occu- 
pied with  their  business.  He  was  learned  with  the  erudite,  and 
simple  with  the  simple,  and  with  spiritual  men  rich  in  illustrations 
of  perfection  and  wisdom.  He  adapted  himself  to  all,  desiring  to 
gain  all  for  Christ.”  2 

Bernard  was  born  of  noble  parents  at  the  Chateau  of 
Fontaines,  near  Dijon,  in  the  year  1090,  and  was  educated 
in  a church  school  at  Chatillon  on  the  Seine.  It  is  an  oft- 
told  story,  how,  when  little  more  than  twenty  years  of  age, 
he  drew  together  a band  formed  of  his  own  brothers,  his 
uncle,  and  his  friends,  and  led  them  to  Citeaux,3  his  ardent 
soul  unsatisfied  so  long  as  one  held  back.  Three  years 
later,  in  hi 5,  the  Abbot,  Stephen  Harding,  entrusted  him 
with  the  headship  of  the  new  monastery,  to  be  founded  in 
the  domains  of  the  Count  of  Troyes.  Bernard  set  forth 
with  twelve  companions,  came  to  Clara  Vallis  on  the  river 
Aube,  and  placed  his  convent  in  that  austere  solitude. 

Great  were  the  attractions  of  Clairvaux  (Clara  Vallis) 
under  Bernard’s  vigorous  and  loving  rule.  Its  monks 
increased  so  rapidly  and  so  . constantly  that  during  its 
founder’s  life  sixty-five  bands  were  sent  forth  to  rear  new 
convents.  Meanwhile,  Bernard’s  activities  and  influence 
widened,  till  they  seemed  to  compass  western  Christendom. 

1 Vita  prima,  iii.  cap.  i (Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  185).  This  Vita  was  written  by 
contemporaries  of  the  saint  who  knew  him  intimately.  But  one  must  be  on  one’s 
guard  as  to  these  apparently  close  descriptions  of  the  saints  in  their  vitae;  for  they 
are  commonly  conventionalized.  This  description  of  Bernard,  excepting  perhaps 
the  colour  of  his  hair,  would  have  fitted  Francis  of  Assisi. 

2 Vita  prima,  iii.  3.  Bernard  himself  said  that  his  aim  in  preaching  was  not 
so  much  to  expound  the  words  (of  Scripture)  as  to  move  his  hearers’  hearts  ( Sermo 
xvi.  in  Cantica  canticorum).  That  his  preaching  was  resistless  is  universally 
attested. 

3 See,  e.g.,  Vacandard,  o.c.  chap.  i. 


4io 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


He  had  become  a power  in  the  politics  of  Church  and  State. 
In  1130  he  was  summoned  by  Louis  le  Gros  practically  to 
determine  the  claims  of  the  rival  Popes  Innocent  II.  and 
Anacletus  II.  He  decided  for  the  former,  and  was  the 
chief  instrument  of  his  eventual  reinstatement  at  Rome. 
Before  this  Bernard’s  health  had  been  broken  by  his  extreme 
austerities.  Yet  even  the  lamentable  failure  of  the  Second 
Crusade,  zealously  promoted  by  him,  did  not  break  his 
power  over  Europe,  which  continued  unimpaired  until  his 
death  in  1153. 

This  active  and  masterful  man  was  impelled  by  those 
elements  of  the  vita  contemplativa  which  formed  his  inner 
self.  First  and  last  and  always  he  was  a monk.  Had  he 
not  been  the  very  monk  he  was,  he  would  not  have  been  the 
dominator  of  men  and  situations  that  he  proved  himself  to 
be.  Temperament  fashions  the  objects  of  contemplation,  and 
shapes  the  yearning  and  aversions,  of  great  monks.  The 
temperamental  element  of  love — the  love  of  God  and  man, 
with  its  appurtenant  detestations — made  the  heart  of 
Bernard’s  vita  contemplativa , and  impassipned  and  empowered 
his  active  faculties.  It  was  the  keynote  of  his  life : in  his 
letters  it  speaks  in  words  of  fire,  while  other  writings  of  the 
saint  analyze  this  great  human  quality  with  profundity  and 
truth.  In  these  he  renders  explicit  the  modes  of  affection 
which  man  may  have  for  man  and  above  all  for  God ; he 
sets  them  forth  as  the  path  as  well  as  goal  of  life  on  earth, 
and  then  as  the  rapt  summit  of  attainment  in  the  life  to 
come.  Through  all  its  stages,  as  it  flows  from  self  to  fellow, 
as  it  rises  from  man  to  God,  love  still  is  love,  and  forms  the 
unifying  principle  among  men  and  between  them  and  God. 

Let  us  trace  in  his  letters  the  nature  and  the  power  of 
Bernard’s  love,  and  see  with  what  yearning  he  loved  his 
fellows,  seeking  to  withdraw  them  from  the  world ; and  how 
his  love  strove  to  be  as  sword  and  armour  against  the  flesh 
and  the  devil.  By  easy  transition  we  shall  pass  to  Bernard’s 
warning  wrath,  flung  against  those  who  w^ould  turn  the 
struggling  soul  aside,  or  threaten  the  Church’s  peace;  then 
by  more  arduous,  but  still  unbroken  stages,  we  may  rise  to 
the  love  of  Jesus,  and  through  love  of  the  God-man  to  love 
of  God.  We  shall  realize  at  the  close  why  that  last  mediaeval 


CHAP.  XVIII 


SAINT  BERNARD 


411 

assessor  of  destinies,  whose  name  was  Dante  Alighieri, 
selected  St.  Bernard  as  the  exponent  of  the  blessed  vision 
which  is  salvation’s  crown  in  the  paradise  of  God.1 

The  way  of  life  at  Clara  Vallis  might  discourage  monks 
of  feeble  zeal.  Among  the  brethren  of  these  early  days  was 
one  named  Robert,  a cousin  of  the  Abbot,  seemingly  of  weak 
and  petulant  disposition.  Soon  he  fled,  to  seek  a softer  cell 
in  Cluny,  the  great  and  rich  monastery  to  which  his  parents 
appear  to  have  dedicated  him  in  childhood.  For  a while 
Bernard  suppressed  his  grief ; but  the  day  came  when  he 
could  endure  no  longer  Robert’s  abandonment  of  his  soul’s 
safety  and  of  the  friend  who  yearned  for  him.  He  stole  out 
of  the  monastery,  accompanied  by  a monk  named  William. 
There,  in  the  open  ( sub  dio ),  Bernard  dictated  a long  letter  to 
be  sent  to  the  deserter.  While  the  two  were  busy,  the  one 
dictating,  the  other  writing,  a rainstorm  broke  upon  them. 
William  wished  to  stop.  “It  is  God’s  work;  write  and  fear 
not,”  said  Bernard.  So  William  wrote  on,  in  the  midst  of 
the  rain ; but  no  drop  fell  on  him  or  the  parchment ; for 
the  power  of  love  which  dictated  the  letter  preserved  the 
parchment  on  which  it  was  being  written.2 

Whoever  has  read  this  letter  in  its  own  fervent  Latin 
will  not  care  to  dispute  this  miracle,  for  which  it  stands  first 
in  the  collection  of  Bernard’s  correspondence.  Bernard  does 
not  recriminate  or  argue  in  it ; his  love  shall  bring  the  young 
monk  back  to  him.  Yes,  yes,  he  says  to  all  that  the  other 
has  urged  regarding  fancied  slights  and  persecution  : 

“Quite  right;  I admit  it.  I am  not  writing  in  order  to  con- 
tend, but  to  end  contention.  To  flee  persecution  is  no  fault  in 
him  who  flees,  but  in  him  who  pursues ; I do  not  deny  it.  I pass 
over  what  has  happened ; I do  not  ask  why  or  how  it  happened. 
I do  not  discuss  faults,  I do  not  dispute  as  to  the  circumstances, 
I have  no  memory  for  injuries.  I speak  only  what  is  in  my  heart. 
Wretched  me,  that  I lack  thee,  that  I do  not  see  thee,  that  I am 
living  without  thee,  for  whom  to  die  would  be  to  live;  without 
whom  to  live,  is  to  die.  I ask  not  why  thou  hast  gone  away;  I 
complain  only  that  thou  dost  not  return.  Come,  and  there  shall 
be  peace ; return,  and  all  shall  be  made  good. 

1 Post,  Chapter  XLIV. 

2 Vita  prima,  i.  cap.  n.  This  William  became  Abbot  of  St.  Thierry  and  one 
of  Bernard’s  biographers. 


412 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


“It  is  certainly  my  fault  that  thou  didst  go  away.  I was  too 
austere  with  thy  young  years,  and  treated  thee  inhumanly.  So 
thou  saidst  when  here,  and  so  I hear  thou  dost  still  reproach  me. 
But  that  shall  not  be  imputed  to  thee.  I never  meant  it  harshly ; 
I was  only  indiscreet.  Now  thou  wilt  find  me  different,  and  I thee. 
Where  before  thou  didst  fear  the  master,  thou  shalt  now  embrace 
the  companion.  Do  not  think  that  I will  not  excuse  any  fault  of 
thine.  Dost  thou  wish  to  be  quite  free  from  fault?  then  return. 
If  thou  wilt  forget  thy  fault  I will  pardon  it ; also  pardon  thou  me, 
and  I too  will  forget  my  fault.” 

Bernard  then  argues  long  and  passionately  against  those 
who  had  led  the  young  man  away  and  received  him  with  such 
blandishments  at  Cluny ; and  passionately  he  argues  against 
the  insidious  softening  of  monastic  principles. 

“Arise,  soldier  of  Christ,  arise,  shake  off  the  dust,  return  to  the 
battle  whence  thou  hast  fled,  and  more  bravely  shalt  thou  fight 
and  more  gloriously  triumph.  Christ  has  many  soldiers  who 
bravely  began,  stood  fast  and  conquered;  He  has  few  who  have 
turned  from  flight  and  renewed  the  combat.  Everything  rare 
is  precious;  and  thou  among  that  rare  company  shalt  the  more 
radiantly  shine. 

“Thou  art  fearful?  so  be  it;  but  why  dost  thou  fear  where 
there  is  no  fear,  and  why  dost  thou  not  fear  where  everything  is  to 
be  feared?  Because  thou  hast  fled  from  the  battle-line,  dost  thou 
think  to  have  escaped  the  foe?  It  is  easier  for  the  Adversary  to 
pursue  a fugitive  than  to  bear  himself  against  manful  defence. 
Secure,  arms  cast  aside,  thou  takest  thy  morning  slumbers,  the 
hour  when  Christ  will  have  arisen ! The  multitude  of  enemies 
beset  the  house,  and  thou  sleepest.  Is  it  safer  to  be  caught  alone 
and  sleeping,  than  armed  with  others  in  the  field?  Arouse  thee, 
seize  thy  arms,  and  escape  to  thy  fellow-soldiers.  Dost  thou 
recoil  at  the  weight  of  thy  arms,  O delicate  soldier!  Before  the 
enemy’s  darts  the  shield  is  no  burden,  nor  the  helmet  heavy. 
The  bravest  soldiers  tremble  when  the  trumpet  is  heard  before 
the  battle  is  joined ; but  then  hope  of  victory  and  fear  of  defeat 
make  them  brave.  How  canst  thou  tremble,  walled  round  with 
the  zeal  of  thy  armed  brethren,  angels  bearing  aid  at  thy  right 
hand,  and  thy  leader  Christ?  There  shalt  thou  safely  fight, 
secure  of  victory.  O battle,  safe  with  Christ  and  for  Christ! 
In  which  there  is  no  wound  or  defeat  or  circumvention  so  long 
as  thou  fleest  not.  Only  flight  loses  the  victory,  which  death 
does  not  lose.  Blessed  art  thou,  and  quickly  to  be  crowned, 


CHAP.  XVIII 


SAINT  BERNARD 


4i3 


dying  in  battle.  Woe  for  thee,  if  recoiling,  thou  losest  at  once  the 
victory  and  the  crown — which  may  He  avert,  my  beloved  son, 
who  in  the  Judgment  will  award  thee  deeper  damnation  because 
of  this  letter  of  mine  if  He  finds  thee  to  have  taken  no  amendment 
from  it.” 

“It  is  God’s  work,”  said  Bernard  to  the  hesitating  scribe. 
These  words  suggest  the  character  of  the  love  which  inspired 
this  letter.  He  loved  Robert  as  man  yearns  for  man ; but 
his  motive  was  to  do  God’s  will,  and  win  the  young  man 
back  to  salvation.  In  after  years  this  young  man  returned 
to  Clara  Vallis. 

It  was  Bernard’s  lot  to  write  many  letters  urging  pro- 
crastinators to  fulfil  their  vows,1  or  appealing  to  those  who 
had  laid  aside  the  arms  of  austerity,  perhaps  betaking  them- 
selves to  the  more  worldly  life  of  the  secular  clergy.  This 
seems  to  have  been  the  case  with  a young  canon  Fulco, 
whom  an  ambitious  uncle  sought  to  draw  back  to  the  world, 
or  at  least  to  a career  of  sacerdotal  emolument.  In  fact, 
Fulco  at  last  became  an  archdeacon ; from  which  it  may  be 
inferred  that  in  his  case  Bernard’s  appeal  was  not  successful. 
He  had  poured  forth  his  arguments  in  an  ardent  letter.2 
Love  compels  him  to  use  words  to  make  the  recipient  grieve ; 
for  love  would  have  him  feel  grief,  that  he  might  no  longer 
have  true  cause  for  grief — good  mother  love,  who  can  cherish 
the  weak,  exercise  those  who  have  entered  upon  their  course, 
or  quell  the  restless,  and  so  show  herself  differently  toward 
her  sons,  all  of  whom  she  loves.  This  letter,  like  the  one  to 
Robert,  concludes  with  a burning  peroration  : 

“What  dost  thou  in  the  city,  dainty  soldier?  Thy  fellows 
whom  thou  hast  deserted,  fight  and  conquer;  they  storm  heaven 
( coelum  rapiunt ) and  reign,  and  thou,  sitting  on  thy  palfrey 
(ambulator  em),  clothed  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  goest  ambling 
about  the  highways ! ” 

Bernard  also  wrote  letters  of  consolation  to  parents  whose 
sons  had  become  monks,  or  letters  of  warning  to  those 
who  sought  to  withdraw  a monk  from  his  good  fight.  In 
one  instance,  his  influence  had  made  a monk  of  a youth 
of  gentle  birth  named  Godfrey,  to  his  parents’  grief.  So 
Bernard  writes  to  them  : 


1 E.g.  Ep.  107. 


2 Ep.  2. 


414 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


“If  God  makes  your  son  His  also,  what  have  you  lost,  or 
he?  He,  from  rich,  becomes  richer,  from  being  noble,  still  more 
illustrious,  and  what  is  more  than  all,  from  a sinner  he  becomes 
a saint.  It  behoved  him  to  be  made  ready  for  the  Kingdom  pre- 
pared for  him  from  the  foundation  of  the  world,  and  for  this 
reason  it  is  well  for  him  to  spend  with  us  his  short  span  of  days, 
so  that  clean  from  the  filth  of  living  in  the  world,  earth’s  dust 
shaken  off,  he  may  become  fit  for  the  heavenly  mansion.  If  you 
love  him  you  will  rejoice  that  he  goes  to  his  Father,  and  such  a 
Father!  He  goes  to  God,  but  you  do  not  lose  him;  rather 
through  him  you  gain  many  sons.  For  all  of  us  who  belong  to 
Clara  Vallis  have  taken  him  to  be  our  brother  and  you  for  our 
parents. 

“Perhaps  you  fear  this  hard  life  for  his  tender  body — that  were 
to  fear  where  there  is  nothing  to  fear.  Have  faith  and  be  com- 
forted. I will  be  a father  to  him  and  he  shall  be  my  son  until 
from  my  hands  the  Father  of  Mercies  and  God  of  all  consolation 
shall  receive  him.  Do  not  grieve ; do  not  weep ; your  Godfrey  is 
hastening  to  joy,  not  to  sorrow.  A father  to  him  will  I be,  a 
mother  too,  a brother  and  a sister.  I will  make  the  crooked  ways 
straight,  and  the  steep  places  plain.  I will  so  temper  and  provide 
for  him  that  as  his  spirit  profits,  his  body  shall  not  want.  So  shall 
he  serve  the  Lord  in  joy  and  gladness,  and  shall  sing  before  Him, 
How  great  is  the  glory  of  the  Lord.”  1 

Young  Godfrey  was  a daintily  nurtured  plant.  For  all 
the  Abbot’s  eloquence  he  did  not  stay  in  Clara  Vallis. 
The  world  drew  him  back.  It  was  now  for  the  saint  to  weep  : 

“I  grieve  over  thee,  my  son  Godfrey;  I grieve  over  thee. 
And  with  reason.  For  who  would  not  lament  that  the  flower  of 
thy  youth  which,  to  the  joy  of  angels,  thou  didst  offer  unsullied 
to  God  in  the  odour  of  sweetness,  is  now  trampled  on  by  demons, 
defiled  with  sins,  and  contaminated  by  the  world.  How  could 
you,  who  were  called  by  God,  follow  the  devil  recalling  thee? 
How  could  you,  whom  Christ  had  begun  to  draw  to  Himself, 
withdraw  your  foot  from  the  very  entry  upon  glory?  In  thee 
I see  the  truth  of  those  words : ‘A  man’s  foes  are  they  of  his  own 
household.’  Thy  friends  and  neighbors  drew  near  and  stood 
up  against  thee.  They  called  thee  back  into  the  jaws  of  the  lion, 
and  have  set  thee  again  in  the  gates  of  death.  They  have  set 
thee  in  darkness,  like  the  dead;  and  thou  art  nigh  to  go  down 
into  the  belly  of  hell,  which  now  is  ravening  to  swallow  thee. 

1 Ep.  no  (this  is  the  whole  letter). 


CHAP.  XVIII 


SAINT  BERNARD 


4i5 


“Turn  back,  I say,  turn  back,  before  the  abyss  swallows  you 
and  the  pit  closes  its  mouth,  before  you  are  engulfed  whence  you 
shall  not  escape,  before,  bound  hand  and  foot,  you  are  cast  into 
outer  darkness  where  there  is  weeping  and  gnashing  of  teeth, 
before  you  are  thrust  into  darkness,  shut  in  with  the  gloom  of 
death. 

“Perhaps  you  blush  to  return,  where  you  have  only  now  fallen 
away.  Blush  for  flight,  and  not  for  turning  to  renew  the  combat. 
The  conflict  is  not  ended;  the  hostile  arrays  have  not  withdrawn 
from  each  other.  The  victory  still  awaits  you.  If  you  are  ready, 
we  would  not  conquer  without  you,  nor  do  we  envy  you  your  share 
of  the  glory.  Joyful  we  will  run  to  thee  and  receive  thee  in  our 
arms,  crying : ‘ It  is  to  meet  to  make  merry  and  be  glad ; for  this 
our  son  was  dead  and  is  alive  again,  was  lost  and  is  found.  ’ ” 1 

Who  knows  whether  this  letter  brought  back  the  little 
monk?  Bernard  wrote  so  lovingly  to  him,  so  gently  to 
his  parents.  He  could  write  otherwise,  and  show  himself 
insensible  to  this  world’s  pestering  tears.  To  the  importunate 
parents  of  a monk  named  Elias,  who  would  drag  him  away 
from  Clara  Vallis,  Bernard  writes  in  their  son’s  name 
thus : 

“To  his  dear  parents,  Ingorranus  and  Iveta,  Elias,  monk  but 
sinner,  sends  daily  prayers. 

“The  only  cause  for  which  it  is  permitted  not  to  obey  parents 
is  God ; for  He  said : ‘ Whoso  loveth  father  or  mother  more  than 
me  is  not  worthy  of  me.’  If  you  truly  love  me  as  good  and  faith- 
ful parents,  why  do  you  molest  my  endeavour  to  please  the  Father 
of  all,  and  attempt  to  withdraw  me  from  the  service  of  Him,  to 
serve  whom  is  to  reign?  For  this  I ought  not  to  obey  you  as 
parents,  but  regard  you  as  enemies.  If  you  loved  me,  you  would 
rejoice,  because  I go  to  my  Father  and  yours.  But  what  is  there 
between  you  and  me?  What  have  I from  you  save  sin  and 
misery?  And  indeed  the  corruptible  body  which  I carry  I admit 
I have  from  you.  Is  it  not  enough  that  you  brought  miserable 
me  into  the  misery  of  this  hateful  world?  that  you,  sinners,  in 
your  sin  produced  a sinner?  and  that  him  born  in  sin,  in  sin  you 
nourished?  Envying  the  mercy  which  I have  obtained  from 
Him  who  desireth  not  the  death  of  a sinner,  would  you  make  me 
a child  of  hell  ? 

1 Ep.  112  (the  entire  letter).  The  Latin  of  this  letter  is  given  post,  Chapter 
XXXII. 


4i 6 THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND  book  hi 

“O  harsh  father!  savage  mother!  parents  cruel  and  impious 
— parents ! rather  destroyers,  whose  grief  is  the  safety  of  the 
child,  whose  consolation  is  the  death  of  their  son ! who  would 
drag  me  back  to  the  shipwreck  which  I,  naked,  escaped;  who 
would  give  me  again  to  the  robbers  when  through  the  good 
Samaritan  I am  a little  recovering  from  my  wounds. 

“Cease  then,  my  parents,”  concludes  the  letter  after  many 
other  reproofs,  “cease  to  afflict  yourselves  with  vain  weeping  and 
to  disquiet  me.  No  messengers  you  send  will  force  me  to  leave. 
Clara  Vallis  will  I never  forsake.  This  is  my  rest,  and  here  shall 
be  my  habitation.  Here  will  I pray  without  ceasing  for  my  sins 
and  yours;  here  with  constant  prayer  will  I implore  that  He 
whose  love  has  separated  us  for  a little  while,  will  join  us  in  another 
life  happy  and  inseparable, — in  whose  love  we  may  live  forever 
and  ever.  Amen.”  1 

If  Bernard  was  severe  toward  those  who  threatened 
some  loved  person’s  weal,  his  anger  burned  more  fiercely 
against  those  whom  he  deemed  enemies  of  God.  Heavy 
was  his  hand  upon  the  evils  of  the  Church:  “The  insolence 
of  the  clergy — to  which  the  bishop’s  neglect  is  mother- 
troubles  the  earth  and  molests  the  Church.  The  bishops 
give  what  is  holy  to  the  dogs,  and  pearls  to  swine.”  2 

Likewise,  fearlessly  but  with  restraint  arising  from  his 
respect  for  all  power  ordained  of  God,  Bernard  opposes 
kings.  Thus  he  writes  to  Louis  the  Fat,  in  regard  to  the 
election  of  a bishop,  with  many  protests,  however,  that  he 
would  not  oppose  the  royal  power — for  which  we  note  his 
reason:  “If  the  whole  world  conspired  to  force  me  to  do 
aught  against  kingly  majesty,  yet  would  I fear  God,  and 
would  not  dare  to  offend  the  king  ordained  by  Him.  For 
neither  do  I forget  where  I read  that  whosoever  resisteth 
power,  resisteth  the  ordinance  of  God.”  But — but — but — 
continues  the  letter,  through  many  qualifyings  which  are 
also  admonitions.  At  last  come  the  words:  “It  is  a fearful 
thing  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  living  God,  even  for  thee, 
O king.”  Thereupon  the  saint  does  not  fail  to  speak  his  mind.3 

Bernard’s  fiercest  denunciations  were  reserved  for  heretics 
and  schismatics,  for  Abaelard,  for  Arnold  of  Brescia,  for 
the  Antipope  Anacletus — were  they  not  enemies  of  God? 

1 Ep.  hi.  2 Ep.  152,  ad  Innocentium  papam,  a.d.  1135. 

3 Ep.  170,  ad  Ludovicum.  Written  in  1138. 


CHAP.  XVIII 


SAINT  BERNARD 


4i7 


Clearly  the  saint  saw  and  understood  these  men  from  his 
point  of  view.  Thus  in  a letter  to  Innocent  II.1  he  sums 
up  his  attitude  towards  Abaelard:  “ Peter  Abaelard  is 

trying  to  make  void  the  merit  of  Christian  faith,  when  he 
deems  himself  able  by  human  reason  to  comprehend  God 
altogether.  He  ascends  to  the  heavens  and  descends  even 
to  the  abyss ! Nothing  may  hide  from  him  in  the  depths  of 
hell  or  in  the  heights  above ! The  man  is  great  in  his  own 
eyes — this  scrutinizer  of  Majesty  and  fabricator  of  heresies.’’ 
Here  was  the  gist  of  the  matter.  That  a man  should  be  great 
in  his  own  eyes,  apart  from  God,  and  teach  others  so,  stirred 
Bernard’s  bowels.2 

Of  Arnold,  the  impetuous  clerical  revolutionist  and  pupil 
of  Abaelard,  Bernard  writes  with  fury:  “ Arnold  of  Brescia, 
whose  speech  is  honey  and  whose  teaching  poison,  whose  is 
the  head  of  a dove  and  the  tail  of  a scorpion,  whom  Brescia 
vomited  forth,  Rome  abhorred,  France  repelled,  Germany 
abominates,  Italy  will  not  receive,  is  said  to  be  with  you.”  3 
Again,  Bernard  rejoices  with  great  joy  when  he  hears  that 
the  anti-pope  who  divided  Christendom  was  dead.4 

It  is  pleasant  to  turn  back  to  Bernard’s  lovingness  and 
mercy.  His  God  would  not  condemn  those  who  repented; 
and  the  saint  can  be  gentle  toward  sinners  possibly  repentant. 
He  urges  certain  monks  to  receive  back  an  erring  brother : 
“Take  him  back  then,  you  who  are  spiritual,  in  the  spirit  of 
gentleness ; let  love  be  confirmed  in  him,  and  let  good 
intention  excuse  the  evil  done.  Receive  back  with  joy  him 
whom  you  wept  as  lost.”  5 In  another  letter  he  urges  a 
countess  to  be  more  lenient  with  her  children ; 6 and  there 
is  a story  of  his  begging  a robber  from  the  hands  of  the 
executioners,  and  leading  him  to  Clara  Vallis,  where  he 
became  at  length  a holy  man.7 

1 Ep.  191. 

2 Cf.  post,  Chapter  XXXVII.  I.,  regarding  this  instance  of  Bernard’s  zeal. 
His  position  is  critically  set  out  in  Wilhelm  Meyer’s  “Die  Anklagesatze  des  h. 
Bernard  gegen  Abaelard,”  Gotlingische  gelehrte  Nachrichten,  philol.  hist.  Klasse, 
1898,  pp.  397-468. 

3 Ep.  196,  ad  Guidonen;  cf.  Ep.  195  (a.d.  1140).  See  for  the  Latin  of  this  letter 
post,  Chapter  XXXII. 

4 Ep.  147,  to  Peter  the  Venerable,  Abbot  of  Cluny  (a.d.  1138). 

5 Ep.  101,  ad  religiosos;  cf.  also  Ep.  136. 

8 Ep.  300. 

7 Vita  prima,  lib.  vii.  cap.  15. 

VOL.  I 2 E 


4i8 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


So  one  sees  Bernard’s  severity,  his  gentle  mercy,  and  the 
love  burning  within  him  for  his  fellows’  good.  Such  were 
the  emotions  of  Bernard  the  saint.  The  man’s  human  heart 
could  also  yearn,  and  feel  bereavement  in  spite  of  faith.  As 
his  zeal  draws  him  from  land  to  land,  he  is  home-sick  for 
Clara  Vallis.  From  Italy,  in  1137,  fighting  to  crush  the 
anti-pope,  a letter  carries  his  yearning  love  to  his  dear  ones 
there : 

“Sad  is  my  soul,  and  not  to  be  consoled,  until  I may  return. 
For  what  consolation  save  you  in  the  Lord  have  I in  an  evil  time 
and  in  the  place  of  my  pilgrimage?  Wherever  I go,  your  sweet 
recollection  does  not  leave  me ; but  the  sweeter  the  memory 
the  more  vexing  is  the  absence.  Alas!  my  wandering  not  only 
is  prolonged  but  aggravated.  Hard  enough  is  exile  from  the 
Lord,  which  is  common  to  us  all  while  we  are  pilgrims  in  the  body. 
But  I endure  a special  exile  also,  compelled  to  live  away  from  you. 

“For  a third  time  my  bowels  are  torn  from  me.1  Those  little 
children  are  weaned  before  the  time  ; the  very  ones  whom  I begot 
through  the  Gospel  I may  not  educate.  I am  forced  to  abandon 
my  own,  and  care  for  the  affairs  of  others ; and  it  is  not  easy  to  say 
whether  to  be  dragged  from  the  former,  or  to  be  involved  in  the 
latter  is  harder  to  bear.  Thus,  O good  Jesus,  my  whole  life  is 
spent  in  grief  and  my  years  in  groaning ! It  is  good  for  me,  O 
Lord,  to  die,  rather  than  to  live  and  not  among  my  brothers,  my 
own  household,  my  own  dearest  ones.”  2 

Bernard  had  a younger  brother,  Gerard,  whom  he  deeply 
loved.  In  1138  he  died  while  still  young,  and  having 
recently  returned  with  Bernard  from  Italy.  Bernard,  dry- 
eyed, read  the  burial-service  over  his  body ; so  says  his 
biographer  wondering,  for  the  saint  was  not  wont  to  bury 
even  strangers  without  tears.3  No  other  eyes  were  dry  at 
that  funeral.  Afterwards  he  preached  a sermon ; 4 it  began 
with  restraint,  then  became  a long  cry  of  grief. 

The  saint  took  the  text  from  Canticles  where  he  had 
left  off  in  his  previous  sermon — “I  am  black,  but  comely,  as 
the  tents  of  Kedar.”  He  proceeded  to  expound  its  meaning : 
the  tents  are  our  bodies,  in  which  we  pilgrims  dwell  and 
carry  on  our  war.  Then  he  spoke  of  other  portions  of  the 

1 It  was  Bernard’s  third  absence  in  Italy. 

2 Ep.  144,  ad  suos  Clarae-V aliens es. 

3 Vita  prima,  lib.  iii.  cap.  7. 


4 Sermo  xxvi.  in  Cantica. 


CHAP.  XVIII 


SAINT  BERNARD 


419 


text — and  suddenly  deferred  the  whole  subject  till  his  next 
sermon  : Grief  ordains  an  end,  “and  the  calamity  which  I suffer.” 

“For  why  dissemble,  or  conceal  the  fire  which  is  scorching  my 
sad  breast?  What  have  I to  do  with  this  Song,  I who  am  in 
bitterness?  The  power  of  grief  turns  my  intent,  and  the  anger 
of  the  Lord  has  parched  my  spirit.  I did  violence  to  my  soul  and 
dissembled  till  now,  lest  sorrow  should  seem  to  conquer  faith. 
Others  wept,  but  with  dry  eyes  I followed  the  hateful  funeral,  and 
dry-eyed  stood  at  the  tomb,  until  all  the  solemnities  were  per- 
formed. In  my  priestly  robes  I finished  the  prayers,  and  sprinkled 
the  earth  over  the  body  of  my  loved  one  about  to  become  earth. 
Those  who  looked  on,  weeping,  wondered  that  I did  not.  With 
such  strength  as  I could  command,  I resisted  and  struggled  not 
to  be  moved  at  nature’s  due,  at  the  fiat  of  the  Powerful,  at  the 
decree  of  the  Just,  at  the  scourge  of  the  Terrible,  at  the  will  of  the 
Lord.  But  though  tears  were  pressed  back,  I could  not  com- 
mand my  sadness ; and  grief,  suppressed,  roots  deeper.  I confess 
I am  beaten.  My  sorrow  will  out  before  the  eyes  of  my  children 
who  understand  and  will  console. 

“You  know,  my  sons,  how  just  is  my  grief.  You  know  what  a 
comrade  has  left  me  in  the  path  wherein  I was  walking.  He  was 
my  brother  in  blood  and  still  closer  by  religion.  I was  weak  in 
body,  and  he  carried  me;  faint-hearted,  and  he  comforted  me; 
lazy,  and  he  spurred  me;  thoughtless,  and  he  admonished  me. 
Whither  art  thou  snatched  away,  snatched  from  my  hands!  O 
bitter  separation,  which  only  death  could  bring;  for  living,  thou 
wouldst  never  leave  me.  Why  did  we  so  love,  and  now  have  lost 
each  other ! Hard  state,  but  my  fortune,  not  his,  is  to  be  pitied. 
For  thou,  dear  brother,  if  thou  hast  lost  dear  ones,  hast  gained 
those  who  are  dearer.  Me  only  this  separation  wounds.  Sweet 
was  our  presence  to  each  other,  sweet  our  consorting,  sweet  our 
colloquy;  I have  lost  these  joys;  thou  hast  but  changed  them. 
Now,  instead  of  such  a worm  as  me,  thou  hast  the  presence  of 
Christ.  But  what  have  I in  place  of  thee?  And  perhaps  though 
thou  knewest  us  in  the  flesh,  now  that  thou  hast  entered  into  the 
power  of  the  Lord,  thou  art  mindful  only  of  His  righteousness, 
forgetting  us. 

“I  seem  to  hear  my  brother  saying : ‘ Can  a woman  forget  her 
sucking  child ; even  so,  yet  will  I not  forget  thee.’  That  does  not 
help,  where  no  hand  is  stretched  out.” 

Bernard  speaks  of  Gerard’s  unfailing  helpfulness  to  him 
and  every  one,  and  of  his  piety  and  religious  life.  He  feels 


420 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


the  cares  of  his  life  and  station  closing  around  him,  and  his 
brother  gone.  Then  he  justifies  his  grief,  and  pours  it  forth 
unrestrained.  Would  any  one  bid  him  not  to  weep  ? as  well 
tell  him  not  to  feel  when  his  bowels  were  torn  from  him ; he 
feels,  for  his  flesh  is  not  brass;  he  grieves,  and  his  grief  is 
ever  before  him : 

“I  confess  my  sorrow.  Will  some  one  call  me  carnal? 
Certainly  I am  human,  since  I am  a man.  Nor  do  I deny  being 
carnal,  for  I am,  and  sold  under  sin,  adjudged  to  death  and 
punishment.  I am  not  insensible  to  punishments ; I shudder  at 
death,  my  own  or  others’.  Mine  was  Gerard,  mine ! He  is  gone, 
and  I feel,  and  am  wounded,  grievously ! 

“Pardon  me,  my  sons;  or  rather  lament  your  father’s  state. 
Pity  me,  and  think  how  grievously  I have  been  requited  for  my 
sins  by  the  hand  of  God.  Though  I feel  the  punishment,  I do  not 
impugn  the  sentence.  This  is  human;  that  would  be  impious. 
Man  must  needs  be  affected  towards  those  dear  to  him,  with  glad- 
ness at  their  presence,  with  sorrow  at  their  absence.  I grieve  over 
thee,  Gerard,  my  beloved,  not  because  thou  art  to  be  pitied,  but 
because  thou  art  taken  away.  May  it  be  that  I have  not  lost  thee, 
but  sent  thee  on  before!  Be  it  granted  me  some  time  to  follow 
whither  thou  art  gone ; for  thou  hast  joined  the  company  of  those 
heavenly  ones  on  whom  in  thy  last  hours  thou  didst  call  exultingly 
to  praise  the  Lord.  For  thee  death  had  no  sting,  nor  any  fear. 
Through  his  jaws  Gerard  passed  to  his  Fatherland  safe  and  glad 
and  exulting.  When  I reached  his  side,  and  he  had  finished  the 
psalm,  looking  up  to  heaven,  he  said  in  a clear  voice:  ‘Father, 
into  thy  hands  I commend  my  spirit.’  Then  saying  over  again 
and  again  the  word,  ‘Father,  Father,’  he  turned  his  joyful  face  to 
me,  and  said:  ‘What  great  condescension  that  God  should  be 
father  to  men ! What  glory  for  men  to  be  sons  of  God  and  heirs 
of  God ! ’ So  he  rejoiced,  till  my  grief  was  almost  turned  to  a 
song  of  gladness. 

“But  the  pang  of  sorrow  calls  me  back  from  that  lovely  vision, 
as  care  wakens  one  from  light  slumber.  I grieve,  but  only  over 
myself ; I lament  his  loss  to  this  household,  to  the  poor,  to  all  our 
Order;  whom  did  he  not  comfort  with  deed  and  word  and  ex- 
ample? Grievously  am  I afflicted,  because  I love  vehemently. 
And  let  no  one  blame  my  tears ; for  Jesus  wept  at  Lazarus’s 
tomb.  His  tears  bore  witness  to  His  nature,  not  to  His  lack  of 
faith.  So  these  tears  of  mine;  they  show  my  sorrow,  not  my 
faithlessness.  I grieve,  but  do  not  murmur.  Lord,  I will  sing 


CHAP.  XVIII 


SAINT  BERNARD 


421 


of  thy  mercy  and  righteousness.  Thou  gavest  Gerard;  thou 
hast  taken  him.  Though  we  grieve  that  he  is  gone,  we  thank 
thee  for  the  gift. 

“I  bear  in  mind,  O Lord,  my  pact  and  thy  commiseration, 
that  thou  mightest  the  more  be  justified  in  thy  word.  For  when 
last  year  we  were  in  Viterbo,  and  he  fell  sick,  and  I was  afflicted 
at  the  thought  of  losing  him  in  a strange  land  and  not  bringing 
him  back  to  those  who  loved  him,  I prayed  to  thee  with  groans  and 
tears:  ‘Wait,  O Lord,  until  our  return.  When  he  is  restored  to 
his  friends,  take  him,  if  thou  wilt,  and  I will  not  complain.’  Thou 
heardest  me,  God;  he  recovered;  we  finished  the  work  thou 
hadst  laid  on  us,  and  returned  in  gladness  bringing  our  sheaves  of 
peace.  Then  I was  near  to  forget  my  pact,  but  not  so  thou.  I 
shame  me  of  these  sobs,  which  convict  me  of  prevarication.  Thou 
hast  recalled  thy  loan,  thou  hast  taken  again  what  was  thine. 
Tears  set  an  end  to  words ; thou,  O Lord,  wilt  set  to  them  limit 
and  measure.”  1 

We  may  now  turn  to  Bernard’s  love  of  God,  and  rise  with 
him  from  the  fleshly  to  the  spiritual,  from  the  conditioned 
to  the  absolute.  There  is  no  break;  love  is  always  love. 
More  especially  the  love  of  Christ,  the  God-man,  is  the 
mediating  term : He  presents  the  Godhead  in  human  form ; 
to  love  Him  is  to  know  a love  attaching  to  both  God  and 
man. 

Guigo,  Prior  of  the  “Grande  Chartreuse,”  whose  Medita- 
tions have  been  given,2  was  Bernard’s  friend,  and  wrote  to 
him  upon  love.  Bernard  replies:  “While  I was  reading  it, 
I felt  sparks  in  my  breast,  from  which  my  heart  glowed 
within  me  as  from  that  fire  which  the  Lord  sent  upon  the 
earth!”  He  hesitates  to  suggest  anything  to  Guigo’s  fervent 
spirit,  as  he  would  hesitate  to  rouse  a bride  quiet  in  the 
bridegroom’s  arms.  Yet  “what  I do  not  dare,  love  dares; 
it  boldly  knocks  at  a friend’s  door,  fearing  no  repulse,  and 
quite  careless  of  disturbing  your  delightful  ease  with  its 
affairs.”  Bernard  is  here  speaking  of  love’s  importunate 
devotion ; his  words  characterize  the  soul’s  importuning  of 
God: 

“I  should  call  love  undefiled  because  it  keeps  nothing  of  its 
own.  Indeed  it  has  nothing  of  its  own,  for  everything  which  it  has 

1 “Finem  verborum  indicunt  lacrymae;  tu  illis,  Domine,  finem  modumque 
indixeris.”  2 A nte,  Chapter  XVII. 


422 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


is  God’s.  The  undefiled  law  of  the  Lord  is  love,  which  seeks  not 
what  profits  itself  but  what  profits  many.  It  is  called  the  law  of 
the  Lord,  either  because  He  lives  by  it,  or  because  no  one  possesses 
it  save  by  His  gift.  It  is  not  irrational  to  speak  of  God  as  living 
by  law,  that  law  being  love.  Indeed  in  the  blessed  highest  Trinity 
what  preserves  that  highest  ineffable  unity,  except  love?” 

So  far,  Bernard  has  been  using  the  word  charitas.  Now, 
in  order  to  indicate  love’s  desire,  he  begins  to  use  the  words 
cupiditas  and  amor } When  these  yearning  qualities  are 
rightly  guided  by  God’s  grace,  what  is  good  will  be  cherished 
for  the  sake  of  what  is  better,  the  body  will  be  loved  for  the 
soul’s  sake,  the  soul  for  God’s  sake,  and  God  for  His  own  sake. 

“Yet  because  we  are  of  the  flesh  ( carnales ) and  are  begotten 
through  the  flesh’s  concupiscence,  our  yearning  love  {cupiditas  vel 
amor  noster)  must  begin  from  the  flesh;  yet  if  rightly  directed, 
advancing  under  the  leadership  of  grace,  it  will  be  consummated 
in  spirit.  For  that  which  is  first  is  not  spiritual,  but  that  which  is 
natural  {animale) ; then  that  which  is  spiritual.  First  man  loves 
{diligit)  himself  for  his  own  sake.  For  he  is  flesh,  and  is  able  to 
understand  nothing  beyond  himself.  When  he  sees  that  he  cannot 
live  {sub sister e)  by  himself  alone,  he  begins,  as  it  were  from  neces- 
sity, to  seek  and  love  God.  Thus,  in  this  second  stage,  he  loves 
God,  but  only  for  his  own  sake.  Yet  as  his  necessities  lead  him  to 
cultivate  and  dwell  with  God  in  thinking,  reading,  praying,  and 
obeying,  God  little  by  little  becomes  known  and  becomes  sweet. 
Having  thus  tasted  how  sweet  is  the  Lord,  he  passes  to  the  third 
stage,  where  he  loves  God  for  God’s  sake.  Whether  any  man  in 
this  life  has  perfectly  attained  the  fourth  stage,  where  he  loves 
himself  for  God’s  sake,  I do  not  know.  Let  those  say  who  have 
knowledge ; for  myself,  I confess  it  seems  impossible.  Doubtless 
it  will  be  so  when  the  good  and  faithful  servant  shall  have  entered 
into  the  joy  of  his  Lord,  and  shall  be  drunk  with  the  flowing  rich- 
ness of  God’s  house.  Then  oblivious  to  himself,  he  will  pass  to 
God  and  become  one  spirit  with  Him.”  2 

So  one  sees  the  stages  through  which  love  of  self  and 
lust  of  fellow  become  love  of  God.  A responsive  emotion 

1 As  Augustine  before  him.  Cf.  Taylor,  The  Classical  Heritage,  etc.,  pp.  129-131. 

2 Ep.  n,  ad  Guigonem.  Bernard  adds  that  when  Paul  says  that  flesh  and  blood 
shall  not  inherit  the  kingdom  of  God,  it  is  not  to  be  understood  that  the  substance 
of  flesh  will  not  be  there,  but  that  every  carnal  necessity  will  have  ceased;  the  love 
of  flesh  will  be  absorbed  in  the  love  of  the  spirit,  and  our  weak  human  affections  trans- 
formed into  divine  energies. 


CHAP.  XVIII 


SAINT  BERNARD 


423 


attends  each  ascending  step  in  the  saint’s  intellectual 
apprehension  of  love — as  one  should  bear  in  mind  while 
following  the  larger  exposition  of  the  theme  in  Bernard’s 
Be  diligendo  Deo.1 

The  cause  and  reason  for  loving  God  is  God;  the  mode 
is  to  love  without  measure:  “Causa  diligendi  Deum,  Deus 
est;  modus,  sine  modo  diligere.”  Should  we  love  God 
because  of  His  desert,  or  our  advantage?  For  both  reasons. 
On  the  score  of  His  desert,  because  He  first  loved  us.  What 
stint  shall  there  be  to  my  love  of  Him  who  is  my  life’s  free 
giver,  its  bounteous  administrator,  its  kind  consoler,  its 
solicitous  ruler,  its  redeemer,  eternal  preserver  and  glorifier? 
On  the  other  hand,  “God  is  not  loved  without  reward; 
but  He  should  be  loved  without  regard  to  the  reward. 
Charitas  seeks  not  its  own.  It  is  affection  and  not  a con- 
tract; it  is  not  bought,  nor  does  it  buy.  Amor  is  satisfied 
with  itself.  It  has  the  reward,  which  is  what  is  loved. 
True  love  demands  no  reward,  but  merits  one.  The  reward, 
although  not  sought  by  the  lover,  is  due  him,  and  will  be 
rendered  if  he  perseveres.” 

Bernard  proceeds  to  expound  the  four  stages  or  grades 
(gradus)  of  love : 

“Love  is  a natural  affection,  one  of  the  four.2  As  it  exists  by 
nature,  it  should  diligently  serve  the  Author  of  nature  first  of  all. 
But  as  nature  is  frail  and  weak,  love  is  compelled  by  necessity  first 
to  serve  itself.  This  is  carnal  love,  whereby,  above  everything, 
man  loves  himself  for  his  own  sake.  It  is  not  set  forth  by  precept, 
but  is  rooted  in  nature ; for  who  hates  his  own  flesh  ? As  love 
becomes  more  ready  and  profuse,  it  is  not  content  with  the  channel 
of  necessity,  but  will  pour  forth  and  overspread  the  broad  fields 
of  pleasure.  At  once  the  overflow  is  bridled  by  the  command, 
‘Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself.’  This  is  just  and 
needful,  lest  what  is  part  of  nature  should  have  no  part  in  grace. 
A man  may  concede  to  himself  what  he  will,  so  long  as  he  is 
mindful  to  provide  the  same  for  his  neighbour.  The  bridle  of 
temperance  is  imposed  on  thee,  O man,  out  of  the  law  of  life  and 
discipline,  in  order  that  thou  shouldst  not  follow  thy  desires,  nor 
with  the  good  things  of  nature  serve  the  enemy  of  the  soul,  which 
is  lust.  If  thou  wilt  turn  away  from  thy  pleasures,  and  be  content 

1 Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  182,  col.  973-1000. 

2 Love,  fear,  joy,  sorrow. 


424 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


with  food  and  raiment,  little  by  little  it  will  not  so  burden  thee 
to  keep  thy  love  from  carnal  desires,  which  war  against  the  soul. 
Thy  love  will  be  temperate  and  righteous  when  what  is  withdrawn 
from  its  own  pleasures  is  not  denied  to  its  brother’s  needs.  Thus 
carnal  love  becomes  social  when  extended  to  one’s  kind. 

“Yet  in  order  that  perfect  justice  should  exist  in  the  love  of 
neighbour,  God  must  be  regarded  (. Deum  in  causa  haberi  necesse 
est).  How  can  one  love  his  neighbour  purely  who  does  not  love 
in  God?  God  makes  Himself  loved,  He  who  makes  all  things 
good.  He  who  founded  nature  so  made  it  that  it  should  always 
need  to  be  sustained  by  Him.  In  order  that  no  creature  might 
be  ignorant  of  this,  and  arrogate  for  himself  the  good  deeds  of 
the  Creator,  the  Founder  wisely  decreed  that  man  should  be  tried 
in  tribulations.  By  this  means,  when  he  shall  have  failed  and 
God  have  aided,  God  shall  be  honoured  by  him  whom  He  has 
delivered.  The  result  is  that  man,  animal  and  carnal,  who  knew 
not  how  to  love  any  one  beside  himself,  begins  for  his  own  sake  to 
love  God ; because  he  has  found  out  that  in  God  he  can  accom- 
plish everything  profitable,  and  without  Him  can  do  nothing. 

“So  now  for  his  own  interest,  he  loves  God — love’s  second 
grade ; but  does  not  yet  love  God  for  God’s  sake.  If,  however, 
tribulation  keeps  assailing  him,  and  he  continually  turns  to  God 
for  aid,  and  God  delivers  him,  will  not  the  man  so  oft  delivered, 
though  he  have  a breast  of  iron  and  a heart  of  stone,  be  drawn 
to  cherish  his  deliverer,  and  love  Him  not  only  for  His  aid  but 
for  Himself?  Frequent  necessities  compel  man  to  come  to  God 
incessantly;  repeatedly  he  tastes  and,  by  tasting,  proves  how 
sweet  is  the  Lord.  At  length  God’s  sweetness,  rather  than  human 
need,  draws  the  man  to  love  Him.  Thereafter  it  will  not  be  hard 
for  the  man  to  fulfil  the  command  to  love  his  neighbour.  Truly 
loving  God,  he  loves  for  this  reason  those  who  are  God’s.  He  loves 
chastely,  and  is  not  oppressed  through  obeying  the  chaste  com- 
mand ; he  loves  justly,  and  willingly  embraces  the  just  command. 
That  is  the  third  grade  of  love,  when  God  is  loved  for  Himself. 

“Happy  is  he  who  attains  to  the  fourth  grade,  where  man  loves 
himself  only  on  account  of  God.  Thy  righteousness,  O God,  is  as 
the  mountain  of  God ; love  is  that  mountain,  that  high  mountain 
of  God.  Who  shall  ascend  into  the  mountain  of  the  Lord  ? Who 
will  give  me  the  wings  of  a dove  and  I will  fly  away  and  be  at  rest. 
Alas ! for  my  long-drawn  sojourning ! When  shall  I gain  that 
habitation  in  Zion,  and  my  soul  become  one  spirit  with  God? 
Blessed  and  holy  will  I call  him  to  whom  in  this  mortal  life  such 
has  been  given  though  but  once.  For  to  be  lost  to  self  and  not  to 
feel  thyself,  and  to  be  emptied  of  thyself  and  almost  to  be  made 


CHAP.  XVIII 


SAINT  BERNARD 


425 


nothing,  that  pertains  to  heavenly  intercourse,  not  to  human  affec- 
tion. And  if  any  one  among  mortals  here  gain  admission  for  an 
instant,  at  once  the  wicked  world  is  envious,  the  day’s  evil  dis- 
turbs, the  body  of  death  drags  down,  fleshly  necessity  solicits, 
corruption’s  debility  does  not  sustain,  and,  fiercest  of  all,  brotherly 
love  calls  back ! Alas  ! he  is  dragged  back  to  himself,  and  forced 
to  cry : ‘ 0 Lord,  I suffer  violence,  answer  thou  for  me  ’ (Isa. 
xxxviii.  14) ; ‘Who  will  deliver  me  from  the  body  of  this  death?’ 
(Rom.  vii.  24). 

“Yet  Scripture  says  that  God  made  all  things  for  His  own 
sake;  that  will  come  to  pass  when  the  creation  is  in  full  accord 
with  its  Author.  Therefore  we  must  sometime  pass  into  that 
state  wherein  we  do  not  wish  to  be  ourselves  or  anything  else, 
except  for  His  sake  and  by  reason  of  His  will,  not  ours.  Then 
not  our  need  or  happiness,  but  His  will,  will  be  fulfilled  in  us.  O 
holy  love  and  chaste ! O sweet  affection ! O pure  and  purged 
intention  of  the  will,  in  which  nothing  of  its  own  is  mingled ! 
This  is  it  to  be  made  God  (deificari).  As  the  drop  of  water  is 
diffused  in  a jar  of  wine,  taking  its  taste  and  colour,  and  as 
molten  iron  becomes  like  to  fire  and  casts  off  its  form,  and  as  the 
air  transfused  with  sunlight  is  transformed  into  that  same  bright- 
ness of  light,  so  that  it  seems  not  illumined,  but  itself  to  be  the 
light,  thus  in  the  saints  every  human  affection  must  in  some 
ineffable  mode  be  liquefied  of  itself  and  transfused  into  the  will 
of  God.  How  could  God  be  all  in  all  if  in  man  anything  of  man 
remained?  A certain  substance  will  remain,  but  in  another  form, 
another  glory,  another  power.” 

Hereupon  St.  Bernard  considers  how  this  fourth  grade  of 
love  will  be  attained  in  the  resurrection,  and  “perpetually 
possessed,  when  God  only  is  loved  and  we  love  ourselves 
only  for  His  sake,  that  He  may  be  the  recompense  and  aim 
( praemium ) of  those  who  love  themselves,  the  eternal 
recompense  of  those  who  love  eternally.” 

Christ  is  the  universal  Mediator  between  God  and  man, 
not  only  because  reconciling  them,  but  as  forming  the 
intervening  term,  the  concrete  instance  of  the  One  suited 
to  the  comprehension  of  the  other.  When  certain  thoughts 
and  sentiments  commonly  applying  to  man  are  applied 
to  Christ,  they  become  fit  to  apply  to  God.  Herein 
especially  may  be  perceived  the  continuing  identity  of  love, 
whether  relating  to  human  beings  or  to  God.  The  soul’s 


426 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


love  of  Christ  is  mediatorial,  and  symbolic  of  its  love  of 
God.  All  of  which  Bernard  has  demonstrated  with 
a mighty  power  of  argument  and  feeling  in  his  famous 
Sermons  on  Canticles } 

The  human  personality  of  Christ  draws  men  to  love  Him, 
till  their  love  is  purged  of  carnality  and  exalted  to  a perfect 
love  of  God : 

“Observe  that  the  heart’s  love  is  partly  carnal;  it  is  affected 
through  the  flesh  of  Christ  and  what  He  said  and  did  while  in  the 
flesh.  Filled  with  this  love,  the  heart  is  readily  touched  by  dis- 
course upon  His  words  and  acts.  It  hears  of  nothing  more 
willingly,  reads  nothing  more  carefully,  recalls  nothing  more 
frequently,  and  meditates  upon  nothing  more  sweetly.  When 
man  prays,  the  sacred  image  of  the  God-man  is  with  him,  as  He 
was  born  or  suckled,  as  He  taught  or  died,  rose  from  the  dead  or 
ascended  to  heaven.  This  image  never  fails  to  nerve  man’s  mind 
with  the  love  of  virtue,  cast  out  the  vices  of  the  flesh  and  quell 
its  lusts.  I deem  the  principal  reason  why  the  invisible  God 
wished  to  be  seen  in  the  flesh,  and,  as  man,  hold  intercourse  with 
men,  was  that  He  might  draw  the  affections  of  carnal  men,  who 
could  only  love  carnally,  to  a salutary  love  of  His  flesh,  and  then 
on  to  a spiritual  love.” 

Conversely,  the  Saviour’s  example  teaches  men  how 
they  should  love  Him : 

“He  loved  sweetly,  wisely,  and  bravely:  sweetly,  in  that  He 
put  on  flesh;  wisely,  in  that  He  avoided  fault;  bravely,  in  that 
He  bore  death.  Those,  however,  with  whom  He  sojourned  in 
the  flesh,  He  did  not  love  carnally,  but  in  prudence  of  spirit. 
Learn  then,  Christian,  from  Christ  how  to  love  Christ.” 

Bernard  shows  how  even  the  Apostles  failed  sometimes  to 
love  Him  according  to  His  perfect  teaching  and  example : 

“Good,  indeed,  is  this  carnal  love,”  he  concludes,  “through 
which  a carnal  life  is  shut  out;  and  the  world  is  despised  and 
conquered.  This  love  progresses  as  it  becomes  rational,  and 
perfected  as  it  becomes  spiritual.”  2 

From  his  own  experiences  Bernard  could  have  spoken 
much  of  the  winning  power  of  Jesus,  and  could  have  told 

1 Migne  183,  col.  785-1198.  2 Sermo  xx.  in  Cantica. 


CHAP.  XVIII 


SAINT  BERNARD 


427 


how  sweetly  it  drew  him  to  love  his  Saviour’s  steps  from 
Bethlehem  to  Calvary.  The  fifteenth  sermon  upon  Can- 
ticles is  on  the  healing  power  of  Jesus’  name. 

“Dry  is  all  food  for  the  soul  unless  anointed  with  that  oil. 
Whatever  you  write  is  not  to  my  taste  unless  I read  Jesus  there. 
Your  talk  and  disputation  is  nothing  unless  that  name  is  rung. 
Jesus  is  honey  in  the  mouth,  melody  in  the  ear,  joy  in  the  heart. 
He  is  medicine  as  well.  Is  any  one  troubled,  let  Jesus  come  into 
the  heart  and  thence  leap  to  the  lips,  and  behold ! at  the  rising 
of  that  bright  name  the  clouds  scatter  and  the  air  is  again  serene. 
If  any  one  slips  in  crime,  and  then  desponds  amid  the  snares  of 
death,  will  he  not,  invoking  that  name  of  life,  regain  the  breath  of 
life?  In  whom  can  hardness  of  heart,  sloth,  rancour,  languish- 
ment  stand  before  that  name?  In  whom  at  its  invocation  will 
not  the  dried  fount  of  tears  burst  forth  more  abundantly  and 
sweetly?  To  what  fearful  trembler  did  the  power  of  that  name 
ever  fail  to  bring  back  confidence?  To  what  man  struggling 
amid  doubts  did  not  the  clear  assurance  of  that  name,  invoked, 
shine  forth?  Who  despairing  in  adversity  lacked  fortitude  if 
that  name  sounded?  These  are  the  languors  and  sickness  of  the 
soul,  and  that  the  medicine.  Nothing  is  as  potent  to  restrain 
the  attack  of  wrath,  or  quell  the  tumour  of  pride,  or  heal  envy’s 
wound,  or  put  out  the  fire  of  lust,  or  temper  avarice.  When  I 
name  Jesus,  I see  before  me  a man  meek  and  humble  of  heart, 
benignant,  sober,  chaste,  pitying,  holy,  who  heals  me  with  His 
example  and  strengthens  me  with  aid.  I take  example  from  the 
Man,  and  draw  aid  from  the  Mighty  One.  Here  hast  thou,  O 
my  soul,  an  herb  of  price,  hidden  in  the  vessel  of  that  name 
which  is  Jesus,  bringing  thee  health  surely  and  in  thy  sickness 
failing  thee  never.” 

This  is  a little  illustration  of  Bernard’s  love  of  the 
Christ-man,  a love  which  is  ever  taking  on  spiritual  hues  and 
changing  to  a love  of  the  Christ-God.  Christians,  from  the 
time  of  Origen,  had  recognized  the  many  offices  of  Christ, 
the  many  saving  potencies  in  which  He  ministered  unto 
each  soul  according  to  its  need.  And  so  Bernard  preaches 
that  the  sick  soul  needs  Christ  as  the  physician,  but  that 
the  saintly  soul  has  other  yearnings  for  a more  perfect 
communion. 

This  perfect  communion,  this  most  complete  relationship 
which  in  this  mortal  life  a soul  can  have  with  Christ,  with 


428 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


God,  had  been  symbolized,  likewise  ever  since  the  time  of 
Origen,  by  the  words  Bride  and  Bridegroom,  and  the  Song 
of  Songs  had  furnished  the  burning  phrases.  With  sur- 
passing spirituality  Bernard  uses  the  texts  of  Canticles  to  set 
forth  the  relationship  of  the  soul  to  Christ,  of  man  to  God. 
The  texts  are  what  they  are,  burning,  sensuous,  fleshly, 
intense,  and  beautiful — every  one  knows  them ; but  in 
Bernard’s  sermons  flesh  fades  before  the  spirit’s  whiter  glow. 

“O  love  (< amor ),  headlong,  vehement,  burning,  impetuous,  that 
canst  think  of  nothing  beyond  thyself,  detesting  all  else,  despising 
all  else,  satisfied  with  thyself ! Thou  dost  confound  ranks,  carest 
for  no  usage,  knowest  no  measure.  In  thyself  dost  thou  triumph 
over  apparent  opportuneness,  reason,  shame,  council  and  judg- 
ment, and  leadest  them  into  captivity.  Everything  which  the 
soul-bride  utters  resounds  of  thee  and  nothing  else ; so  hast  thou 
possessed  her  heart  and  tongue.”  1 

What  Bernard  here  ejaculates  as  to  the  overwhelming 
sufficiency  of  love,  he  sets  forth  finally  in  a sustained  and 
reasoned  passage,  in  which  man’s  ways  of  loving  God  are 
cast  together  in  a sequence  of  ardent  thought  and  image. 
He  has  been  explaining  the  soul’s  likeness  to  the  Word. 
Although  it  be  afflicted  and  defiled  by  sin,  it  may  yet 
venture  to  come  to  Him  whose  likeness  it  retains,  however 
obscured.  The  soul  does  not  leave  God  by  change  of  place, 
but,  in  the  manner  of  spiritual  substance,  by  becoming 
depraved.  The  return  of  the  soul  is  its  conversion,  in  which 
it  is  made  conformable  to  God. 

“Such  conformity  marries  the  soul  to  the  Word,  whom  it  is 
like  by  nature,  and  may  show  itself  like  in  will,  loving  as  it  is  loved. 
If  it  loves  perfectly  it  weds.  What  more  delightful  than  this 
conformity,  what  more  desirable  than  this  love,  through  which 
thou,  O soul,  faithfully  drawest  near  to  the  Word,  with  constancy 
cleavest  to  the  Word,  consulting  Him  in  everything,  as  capable 
in  intellect  as  audacious  in  desire.  Spiritual  is  the  contracting 
of  these  holy  nuptials,  wherein  always  to  will  the  same  makes 
one  spirit  out  of  two.  No  fear  lest  the  disparity  of  persons  make 
but  a lame  concurrence  of  wills : for  love  does  not  know  respect. 
The  name  love  comes  from  loving  and  not  from  honouring.  He 
may  honour  who  dreads,  who  is  struck  dumb  with  fear  and 


1 Sermo  Ixxix.  in  Cantica. 


CHAP.  XVIII 


SAINT  BERNARD 


429 


wonder.  Not  so  the  lover.  Love  aboundeth  in  itself,  and  derides 
and  imprisons  the  other  emotions.  Wherefore  she  who  loves, 
loves,  and  knows  nothing  else.  And  He  who  is  to  be  honoured 
and  marvelled  at,  still  loves  rather  to  be  loved.  Bridegroom 
and  Bride  they  are.  And  what  necessity  or  bond  is  there  between 
spouses  except  to  be  loved  and  love  ? 

“ Think  also,  that  the  Bridegroom  is  not  only  loving  but  very 
love.  Is  He  also  honour  ? I have  not  so  read.  I have  read  that 
God  is  love;  not  that  He  is  honour,  or  dignity.  God  indeed 
demands  to  be  feared  as  Lord,  to  be  honoured  as  Father,  and  as 
Bridegroom  to  be  loved.  Which  excels  the  rest?  Love,  surely. 
Without  it,  fear  is  penal,  and  honour  graceless.  Fear  is  slavish 
till  manumitted  by  love;  and  the  honour  which  does  not  rise 
from  love  is  adulation.  To  God  alone  belong  honour  and  glory; 
but  He  will  accept  neither  unless  it  is  flavoured  with  love’s  honey. 

“Love  asks  neither  cause  nor  fruit  beyond  itself.  I love 
because  I love ; I love  that  I may  love.  A great  thing  is  love. 
Among  all  the  movements,  sensations,  and  affections  of  the  soul, 
it  is  the  only  one  wherein  the  creature  can  make  a return  to  its 
Author.  If  God  be  angry  with  me,  shall  I likewise  be  angry  with 
Him?  Nay,  I will  fear  and  tremble  and  beseech.  If  He  accuse 
me,  I will  make  no  counter-charge,  but  plead  before  Him.  If  He 
judge  me,  I will  not  judge  but  worship.  And  when  He  saves  me, 
He  asks  not  to  be  saved  by  me ; nor  does  He  who  frees  all  ask 
to  be  freed  of  any  one.  Likewise  if  He  commands,  I obey,  and  do 
not  order  Him.  Now  see  how  different  it  is  with  love.  For  when 
God  loves,  He  wishes  only  to  be  loved ; He  loves  with  no  other  end 
than  to  be  loved,  knowing  that  those  who  love  are  blessed  with 
love  itself. 

“A  great  thing  is  love ; but  there  are  grades  in  it.  The  Bride 
stands  at  the  summit.  Sons  love,  but  they  are  thinking  of  their 
inheritance.  Fearing  to  lose  that,  they  honour,  rather  than  love, 
him  from  whom  they  expect  it.  Love  is  suspect  when  its  suffrage 
appears  to  be  won  by  hope  of  gain.  Weak  is  it,  if  it  cease  or 
lessen  with  that  hope  withdrawn.  It  is  impure  if  it  desires 
anything  else.  Pure  love  is  not  mercenary : it  gains  no  strength 
from  hope,  nor  weakens  with  lack  of  trust.  This  love  is  the 
Bride’s,  because  she  is  what  she  is  by  love.  Love  is  the  Bride’s 
sole  hope  and  interest.  In  it  the  Bride  abounds  and  the  Bride- 
groom is  content.  He  seeks  nothing  else,  nor  has  she  ought  beside. 
Hence  he  is  Bridegroom  and  she  Bride.  This  belongs  to  spouses 
which  none  else,  not  even  a son,  can  attain.  Man  is  commanded 
to  honour  his  father  and  mother ; but  there  is  silence  as  to  love. 
Which  is  not  because  parents  are  not  to  be  loved  by  their  sons; 


430 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


but  because  sons  are  rather  moved  to  honour  them.  The  honour 
of  the  King  loves  judgment;  but  the  Bridegroom’s  love — for  He 
is  love — asks  only  love’s  return  and  faith. 

“Rightly  renouncing  all  other  affections,  the  Bride  reposes  on 
love  alone,  and  returns  a love  reciprocal.  And  when  she  has 
poured  her  whole  self  out  in  love,  what  is  that  compared  with  the 
perennial  flood  of  that  fountain?  Not  equals  in  abundance  are 
this  loving  one  and  Love,  the  soul  and  the  Word,  the  Bride  and 
Bridegroom,  creature  and  Creator — no  more  than  thirst  equals 
the  fount.  What  then?  shall  she  therefore  despair,  and  the  vow 
of  the  would-be  Bride  be  rendered  empty?  Shall  the  desire  of 
this  panting  one,  the  ardour  of  this  loving  one,  the  trust  of  this 
confiding  one  be  baffled  because  she  cannot  keep  pace  with  the 
giant’s  course,  in  sweetness  contend  with  honey,  in  mildness  with 
the  Lamb,  in  whiteness  with  the  Lily,  in  brightness  with  the  Sun, 
in  love  with  Him  who  is  love?  No.  For  although  the  creature 
loves  less,  because  she  is  less,  yet  if  she  loves  with  her  whole  self, 
nothing  lacks  where  there  is  all.  Wherefore,  as  I have  said,  so  to 
love  is  to  have  wedded ; for  no  one  can  so  love  and  yet  be  loved 
but  little,  and  in  mutual  consent  stands  the  entire  and  perfect 
marriage.”  1 

Who  has  not  marvelled  that  the  relationship  of  marriage 
should  make  so  large  a part  of  the  symbolism  through 
which  monks  and  nuns  expressed  the  soul’s  love  of  God? 
Historically  it  might  be  traced  to  Paul’s  precept,  “Husbands 
love  your  wives,  as  Christ  loved  the  Church”;  still  more 
potently  it  was  derived  from  the  Song  of  Songs.  But 
beyond  these  almost  adventitious  influences,  did  not  the 
holy  priest,  the  monk,  the  nun,  feel  and  know  that  marriage 
was  the  great  human  relationship?  So  they  drew  from  it 
the  most  adequate  allegory  of  the  soul’s  communion  with 
its  Maker : differently  according  to  their  sex,  with  much 
emotion,  and  even  with  unseemly  imaginings,  they  thought 
and  felt  the  love  of  God  along  the  ways  of  wedded  union  or 
even  bridal  passion.2 

1 Sermo  Ixxxiii.  in  Cantica.  This  is  nearly  the  whole  of  this  sermon.  Bernard’s 
sermons  were  not  long.  See  post , Chapter  XXXVII.  n.,  as  to  Bernard’s  use  of  the 
symbolism  of  the  kiss. 

2 Post,  Chapter  XX. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


ST.  FRANCIS  OF  ASSISI1 

Twenty-nine  years  after  the  death  of  St.  Bernard,  Francis 
was  born  in  the  Umbrian  hill  town  of  Assisi.  The  year 
was  1182.  On  the  fourth  of  October  1226,  in  the  forty- 
fifth  year  of  his  age,  this  most  loving  and  best  beloved  of 
mediaeval  saints  breathed  his  last,  in  the  little  church  of 
the  Portiuncula,  within  the  shadows  of  that  same  hill  town. 

Of  all  mediaeval  saints,  Bernard  and  Francis  impressed 
themselves  most  strongly  upon  their  times.  Neither  of 
them  was  pre-eminently  an  intellectual  force — Francis 
especially  would  not  have  been  what  he  was  but  for  certain 
childlike  qualities  of  mind  which  never  fell  away  from  him. 

1 The  present  chapter  is  intended  as  an  appreciation  of  the  personality  of 
Francis;  incidents  of  his  life  are  used  for  illustration.  I have  endeavoured  to 
confine  myself  to  such  as  are  generally  accepted  as  authentic,  and  to  those  parts 
of  the  sources  which  are  confirmed  by  corroborative  testimony.  The  reader 
doubtless  is  aware  that  the  sources  of  Franciscan  history  are  abundant,  but  that 
there  is  still  much  critical  and  even  polemic  controversy  touching  their  trust- 
worthiness. Of  the  Speculum  perfectionis,  edited  by  Sabatier,  I would  make 
this  remark : many  of  its  narratives  contain  such  wisdom  and  human  truth  as 
seem  to  me  to  bring  them  very  close  to  the  acts  and  words  of  some  great  person- 
ality, i.e.  Francis.  This  is  no  sure  proof  of  their  authenticity,  and  yet  is  a fair 
reason  for  following  their  form  of  statement  of  some  of  the  incidents  in  Francis’s 
life,  the  human  value  of  which  perhaps  appears  narrowed  and  deflected  in  other 
accounts. 

The  chief  sources  for  the  life  of  St.  Francis  of  Assisi  are  first  his  own  compo- 
sitions, edited  conveniently  under  the  title  of  Opuscula  sancti  patris  Francisci 
Assisiensis,  by  the  Franciscans  of  Quarrachi  (1904).  They  have  been  translated 
by  P.  Robinson  (Philadelphia,  The  Dolphin  Press,  1906).  Next  in  certainty  of 
authenticity  come  the  two  Lives  by  Celano,  i.e.  Vita  prima  S.  Francisci  Assi- 
siensis, auctore  B.  Thoma  de  Celano,  ejus  discipulo,  Bollandi  Acta  sanctorum, 
tome  46  (Oct.  tome  2),  pp.  683-723;  also  edited  by  Canon  Amoni  (Rome,  1880); 
Vita  secunda  seu  appendix  ad  Vitam  primam,  ed.  by  Amoni  (Rome,  1880).  Better 
editions  than  Amoni’s  are  those  of  Edouard  d’Alenfon  (Rome,  1906)  and  H.  G. 
Rosedale  (Dent,  London,  1904).  Of  great  importance  also  is  the  Legenda  trium 
sociorum  {Leo,  Rufinus,  Angelus),  Bollandi  Acta  sanctorum,  t.  46  (Oct.  t.  2),  pp. 

431 


43  2 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


The  power  of  these  men  sprang  from  their  personalities  and 
the  vivida  vis  (their  contemporaries  would  have  said,  the 
grace  of  God)  realizing  itself  in  every  word  and  act. 
Bernard’s  power  was  more  directly  dependent  upon  the 
conditions  of  his  epoch,  and  his  influence  was  more  limited 
in  duration. 

The  reason  is  not  far  to  seek.  Both  men  were  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  even  of  those  decades  in  which  they  lived. 
But  Bernard’s  strength  was  part  of  the  medium  wherein  he 
worked  and  the  evil  against  which  he  fought — the  clerical 
corruptions,  the  heresies,  the  schisms  and  political  contro- 
versies, the  warfare  of  Christ  with  Mahomet — all  matters 
of  vital  import  for  his  time,  but  which  were  to  change 
and  pass. 

Francis,  on  the  other  hand,  was  occupied  with  none  of 
these.  He  was  no  scourge  of  clerical  corruptions,  no  scourge 
of  anything;  he  knew  nought  of  heresy  or  schism,  nothing 
of  politics  or  war ; into  the  story  of  his  life  there  comes  not 
even  a far-off  echo  of  the  Albigensian  Crusade  or  the 
conflict  between  pope  and  emperor.  His  life  appears 
detached  from  the  special  conditions  of  his  time ; it  is 
neither  held  within  them  nor  compelled  by  them,  but  only 
by  its  inner  impulse.  For  it  was  not  occupied  with  the 
exigencies  of  Italy  and  Germany,  or  Southern  France, 
during  that  first  quarter  of  the  thirteenth  century,  when 
De  Montfort  was  hurling  the  orthodox  and  brutal  north 
upon  the  fair  but  heretical  provinces  of  Languedoc,  and 
when  Innocent  III.  was  excommunicating  Otho  IV.,  and 

723-742;  also  ed.  by  Amoni  (Rome,  1880).  (Amoni’s  texts  differ  somewhat  from 
those  of  the  Bollandist.)  It  is  also  edited  by  Pulignani  (Foligno,  1898),  and 
edited  and  hypothetically  completed  from  the  problematical  Italian  version,  by 
Marcellino  da  Civezza  and  Teofilo  Domenichelli  (Rome,  1899).  Perhaps  most 
vivid  of  all  the  early  sources  is  the  so-called  Speculum  perfectionis  seu  S.  Francisci 
Assisiensis  legenda  antiquissima  auctore  fratre  Leone,  as  edited  by  Paul  Sabatier 
(Paris,  1898).  It  has  been  translated  into  English  several  times.  Its  date  and 
authenticity  are  still  under  violent  discussion.  One  may  conveniently  refer  to 
the  article  “Franciscan  Literature”  in  the  Edinburgh  Review  for  January  1904. 
and  to  P.  Robinson’s  Short  Introduction  to  Franciscan  Literature  (New  York,  1907) 
for  further  references,  which  the  student  must  supplement  for  himself  from  the 
mass  of  recent  literature  in  books  and  periodicals  touching  the  life  of  Francis  and 
its  sources.  See  also  Fierens,  La  Question  franciscaine,  etc.  (Louvain,  1909). 
Among  modern  Lives,  that  by  Sabatier  is  probably  known  to  all  readers  of  this 
note.  The  Lives  by  Bonghi  and  Le  Monnier  may  be  referred  to.  Gebhard’s  Italie 
mystique  is  interesting  in  connection  with  Francis. 


CHAP.  XIX 


SAINT  FRANCIS 


433 


Frederick  II.  was  disclosing  himself  as  the  most  dangerous 
foe  the  papacy  had  yet  known.  The  passing  turmoil  and 
danger  of  the  time  did  not  touch  this  life ; the  man  knew 
naught  of  all  these  things.  He  was  not  considering  thir- 
teenth century  Italians,  Frenchmen,  and  Germans;  he  was 
fascinated  with  men  as  men,  with  the  dumb  brutes  as  fellow- 
creatures,  and  even  with  plants  and  stones  as  vessels  of 
God’s  loveliness  or  symbols  of  His  Word ; above  all  he  was 
absorbed  in  Christ,  who  had  taken  on  humanity  for  him, 
had  suffered  for  him,  died  for  him,  and  who  now  around, 
above,  within  him,  inspired  and  directed  his  life. 

So  Francis’s  life  was  not  compassed  by  its  circumstances ; 
nor  was  its  effect  limited  to  the  thirteenth  century.  His 
life  partook  of  the  eternal  and  the  universal,  and  might 
move  men  in  times  to  come  as  simply  and  directly  as  it 
turned  men’s  hearts  to  love  in  the  years  when  Francis  was 
treading  the  rough  stones  of  Assisi. 

On  the  other  hand,  Francis  was  mediaeval  and  in  a way 
to  give  concrete  form  and  colour  to  the  elements  of  universal 
manhood  that  were  his.  He  was  mediaeval  in  complete 
and  finished  mode ; among  mediaeval  men  he  offers  perhaps 
the  most  distinct  and  most  perfectly  consistent  individuality. 
He  is  Francis  of  Assisi,  born  in  1182  and  dying  in  1226, 
and  no  one  else  who  ever  lived  either  there  and  then  or 
elsewhere  at  some  other  time.  He  is  Francis  of  Assisi 
perfectly  and  always,  a man  presenting  a complete  artistic 
unity,  never  exhibiting  act  or  word  or  motive  out  of 
character  with  himself. 

From  a slightly  different  point  of  view  we  may  perceive 
how  he  was  a perfect  individual  and  at  the  same  time  a 
perfect  mediaeval  type.  There  was  no  element  in  his 
character  which  was  not  assimilated  and  made  into  Francis 
of  Assisi.  Anterior  and  external  influences  contributed  to 
make  this  Francis.  But  in  entering  him  they  ceased  to  be 
what  they  had  been;  they  changed  and  became  Francis. 
For  example,  nothing  of  the  antique,  no  distinct  bit  of 
classical  inheritance,  appears  in  him ; if,  in  any  way,  he  was 
touched  by  it — as  in  his  joyous  love  of  life  and  the  world 
about  him — the  influence  had  ceased  to  be  anything  distinct 
in  him ; it  had  become  himself.  Likewise,  whatever  he  may 

VOL.  1 2 F 


434 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


have  known  of  the  Fathers  and  of  all  the  dogmatic  possession 
and  ecclesiastical  tradition  of  the  Church,  this  also  was 
remade  in  Francis.  Evidently  such  an  all-assimilating  and 
transforming  individuality  could  not  have  existed  in  those 
earlier  centuries  when  the  immature  mediaeval  world  was 
taking  over  its  great  inheritance  from  the  pagan  and 
Christian  antique — those  centuries  when  men  could  but  turn 
their  heritage  of  thought  and  knowledge  this  way  and  that, 
disturb  and  distort  and  rearrange  it.  Such  an  individuality 
as  Francis  could  exist  only  at  the  climax  of  the  Middle 
Age,  at  the  period  of  its  fullest  strength  and  greatest 
distinction,  when  it  had  masterfully  changed  after  its  own 
heart  whatever  it  had  received  from  the  past,  and  had  made 
its  transformed  acquisitions  into  itself. 

Francis  is  of  this  grand  mediaeval  climacteric.  The 
Middle  Ages  were  no  longer  in  a stage  of  transition  from 
the  antique ; they  had  attained ; they  were  themselves. 
Sides  of  this  distinctive  mediaeval  development  and  temper 
express  themselves  in  Francis — are  Francis  verily.  The 
spirit  of  romance  is  incarnate  in  him.  Roland,  Oliver, 
Charlemagne  (he  of  the  Chansons  de  geste),  and  the  knights 
of  the  Round  Table,  are  part  of  Francis;— his  first  disciples 
are  his  paladins.  Again,  instead  of  emperor  or  paladin, 
he  is  himself  the  jongleour , the  joculator  Dei  (God’s 
minstrel) . 

And  of  all  that  had  become  Francis  the  greatest  was 
Christ.  He  had  not  taken  the  theology  of  Augustine;  he 
had  not  taken  the  Christ  handed  over  by  the  transition 
centuries  to  the  early  Middle  Ages;  he  had  not  adopted 
the  Christ  of  the  ecclesiastical  hierarchy.  He  took 
Jesus  from  the  Gospel,  or  at  least  such  elements  of  Jesus’ 
fife  and  teaching  as  he  felt  and  understood.  Francis 
modelled  his  life  on  his  understanding  of  Christ  and  His 
teaching.  So  many  another  saint  had  done;  in  fact,  so 
must  all  Christians  try  to  do.  Francis  accomplished  it  with 
completeness  and  power ; he  created  a new  Christ  fife ; a 
Christ  life  partial  and  reduced  from  the  breadth  and  balance 
of  the  original,  yet  veritable  and  living.  Francis  himself 
felt  that  his  whole  life  was  Christ-directed  and  inspired,  and 
that  even  because  of  his  own  special  insignificance  Christ 


CHAP.  XIX 


SAINT  FRANCIS 


435 


had  chosen  him  to  show  forth  the  true  Gospel  life  again — • 
but  chosen  him  indeed.1 

Although  the  life  of  Francis  appears  as  if  detached  from 
the  larger  political  and  ecclesiastical  movements  of  the  time, 
it  yields  glimpses  of  the  ways  and  doings  of  the  people  of 
Assisi.  We  see  their  jealousies  and  quarrels,  their  war  with 
Perugia,  also  their  rustic  readiness  to  jeer  at  the  unusual 
and  incomprehensible;  or  we  are  struck  with  instances  of 
the  stupid  obstinacy  and  intolerance  often  characterizing  a 
small  community.  Again,  we  see  in  some  of  those  citizens 
an  open  and  quick  impulsiveness,  which,  at  the  sight  of  love, 
may  turn  to  love.  It  would  seem  as  if  the  harshest,  most 
impossible  man  of  all  the  town  was  Peter  Bernardone,  a 
well-to-do  merchant  whose  affairs  took  him  often  from 
Assisi,  and  not  infrequently  to  France. 

Bernardone  had  a predilection  for  things  French,  and  the 
child  born  to  his  wife  while  he' was  absent  in  France  he  called 
Francis  upon  his  return,  although  the  mother  had  given  it 
the  name  of  John.  The  mother,  whose  name  was  Pica,  may 
have  been  of  Provencal  or  French  blood.  Apparently  such 
education  as  Francis  received  in  his  boyhood  was  as  much 
French  as  Italian.  Through  all  his  life  he  never  lost  the 
habit  of  singing  French  songs  which  he  composed  himself.2 

1 Consciousness  of  direct  authority  from  God  speaks  in  the  saint’s  unquestion- 
ably authentic  Testament:  “And  after  the  Lord  gave  me  some  brothers,  no  one 
showed  me  what  I ought  to  do,  but  the  Most  High  himself  revealed  to  me  that 
I ought  to  live  according  to  the  model  of  the  holy  Gospel.”  It  is  also  rendered 
with  picturesque  vehemence  in  a scene  ( Speculum  perfectionis,  ed.  Sabatier,  ch. 
68)  which  may  or  may  not  be  authentic.  At  a general  meeting  of  the  Order, 
certain  wise  brethren  had  persuaded  the  Cardinal-Bishop  of  Ostia  to  advise 
Francis  to  follow  their  counsel,  and  had  adduced  certain  examples  from  the 
monastic  rule  of  Benedict  and  others.  “When  the  Cardinal  had  related  these 
matters  to  the  blessed  Francis,  in  the  way  of  admonition,  the  blessed  Francis 
answered  nothing,  but  took  him  by  the  hand  and  led  him  before  the  assembled 
brothers,  and  spoke  to  the  brothers  in  the  fervour  and  power  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
thus:  ‘My  brothers,  my  brothers,  the  Lord  called  me  in  the  way  of  simplicity 
and  humility,  and  showed  me  in  truth  this  way  for  myself  and  for  those  who 
wish  to  believe  and  imitate  me.  And  therefore  I desire  that  you  will  not  name 
any  rule  to  me,  neither  the  rule  of  St.  Benedict,  nor  that  of  St.  Augustine  or  St. 
Bernard,  or  any  other  rule  or  model  of  living  except  that  which  was  mercifully 
shown  and  given  me  by  the  Lord.  And  the  Lord  said  that  He  wished  me  to  be 
a new  covenant  ( pactum ) in  the  world,  and  did  not  wish  us  to  live  by  any  other 
way  save  by  that  knowledge.’” 

2 These  songs  (none  of  which  survive)  were  apparently  in  the  langue  d'otl 
and  not  in  the  langue  d’oe.  The  phrases  used  by  the  biographers  are  lingua 
francigena  (i  Cel.  i.  7)  and  lingua  gallica  (III.  Soc.  iii.)  or  gallice  cantabat  (Spec, 
perf.  vii.  93). 


436 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


The  biographers  assert  that  Francis  was  nourished  in 
worldly  vanity  and  insolence.  His  temperament  drew  him 
to  the  former,  but  kept  him  from  the  latter.  For  while  he 
delighted  in  making  merry  with  his  friends,  he  was  always 
distinguished  by  a winning  courtesy  of  manner  toward  poor 
and  rich.  An  innate  generosity  was  also  his,  and  he  loved 
to  spend  money  as  he  roamed  with  his  companions  about 
Assisi  singing  jovial  choruses  and  himself  the  leader  of  the 
frolic.  Bernardone  did  not  object  to  his  son’s  squandering 
some  money  in  a way  which  led  others  to  admire  him  and 
think  his  parents  rich;  while  Pica  would  keep  saying  that 
some  day  he  would  be  God’s  son  through  grace.  A vein  of 
sprightly  fantasy  runs  through  these  gaieties  of  Francis’s, 
which  we  may  be  sure  were  unstained  by  any  gross  dis- 
sipation. Francis’s  life  as  a saint  is  peculiarly  free  from 
monkish  impudicity,  free,  that  is,  from  morbid  dwelling 
upon  things  sensual ; which  shows  that  in  him  there 
was  no  reaction  or  need  of  reaction  against  any  youthful 
dissoluteness,  and  bears  testimony  to  the  purity  of  his 
unconverted  years.1 

In  those  days  Francis  loved  to  be  admired  and  praised. 
He  was  possessed  with  a romantic  and  imaginative  vanity. 
Costly  clothes  delighted  him  as  he  dreamed  of  still  more 
royal  entertainment,  and  fancied  great  things  to  come. 
His  mind  was  filled  with  the  figures  of  Romance ; a knight 
would  he  be  at  least;  why  not  a paladin,  whom  all  the 
world  should  wonder  at?  So  he  dreamed,  and  so  he  acted 
out  his  whim  as  best  he  might  on  the  little  stage  of  Assisi; 
for  Francis  was  a poet,  and  a poet  even  more  in  deed  than 
in  words.  He  was  endowed  with  exquisite  fancy,  and  he 
did  its  dictates  never  doubting.  His  life  was  to  prove  an 
almost  unexampled  inspiration  to  art,  because  it  was  itself 
a poem  by  reason  of  its  unfailing  realization  of  the  con- 
ceptions of  a fervent  and  beautiful  imagination. 

There  came  war  with  Perugia,  a very  hard-hitting  town ; 
and  the  Assisi  cavaliers,  Francis  among  them,  found  them- 
selves in  their  neighbours’  dungeons.  There  some  desponded  ; 
but  not  Francis.  For  in  these  careless  days  he  was  always 
gleeful  and  jocular,  even  as  afterwards  his  entire  saintly  life 

1 In  fact  this  is  vouched  for  in  III.  Soc.  i. 


CHAP.  XIX 


SAINT  FRANCIS 


437 


was  glad  with  an  invincible  gaiety  of  spirit.  So  Francis 
laughed  and  joked  in  prison  till  his  fellow-prisoners  thought 
him  crazy,  which  no  whit  worried  him,  as  he  answered  with 
the  glad  boast  that  some  day  he  would  be  adored  by 
all  the  world.  He  showed  another  side  of  his  inborn 
nature  when  he  was  kind  to  a certain  one  of  the  captives 
whom  the  rest  detested,  and  tried  to  reconcile  his  fellows 
with  him. 

It  was  soon  after  his  release  from  this  twelvemonth 
captivity  that  the  sails  of  Francis’s  spirit  began  to  fill  with 
still  more  topping  hopes,  and  then  to  waver  strangely.  He 
naturally  fell  sick  after  the  privations  of  a Perugia  prison. 
As  he  recovered  and  went  about  with  the  aid  of  a staff,  the 
loveliness  of  field  and  vineyard  failed  to  please  him.  He 
wondered  at  himself,  and  suspected  that  his  former  pleasures 
were  follies.  But  it  was  not  so  easy  to  leave  off  his  previous 
fife,  and  Francis’s  thoughts  were  lured  back  again  to  this 
world’s  glory ; for  a certain  nobleman  of  Assisi  was  about 
to  set  out  on  an  expedition  to  Apulia  to  win  gain  and  fame, 
and  Francis  was  inflamed  to  go  with  him.  In  the  night  he 
dreamed  that  his  father’s  house  with  its  heaps  of  cloth  and 
other  wares  was  filled  instead  with  swords  and  lances,  with 
glittering  shields,  helmets  and  breastplates.  He  awoke  in 
an  ecstasy  of  joy  at  the  great  glory  portended  by  this  dream. 
Then  he  fitted  himself  out  sumptuously,  with  splendid  garb, 
bright  weapons,  new  armour  and  accoutrements,  and  in  due 
time  set  forth  with  his  fellow-adventurers. 

Once  more  he  wavered.  Before  reaching  Spoleto  he 
stopped,  left  the  company,  turned  back  on  his  steps,  this 
time  impelled  more  strongly  to  seek  those  things  which  he 
was  to  love  through  life.  He  was  about  twenty-three  years 
old.  It  was  his  nature  to  love  everything,  fame  and 
applause,  power  perhaps,  and  joy;  but  he  had  not  yet 
loved  worthily.  Now  his  Lord  was  calling  him,  the  voice  at 
first  not  very  certain,  and  yet  becoming  stronger.  Francis 
seems  to  have  seen  a vision,  in  which  the  vanity  of  his 
attachments  was  made  clear,  and  he  learned  that  he  was 
following  a servant  instead  of  the  Lord.  So  his  heart 
replied,  “Lord,  what  wouldst  thou  have  me  to  do?”  and  then 
the  vision  showed  him  that  he  should  return,  for  he  had 


43§ 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


misunderstood  his  former  dream  of  arms.  When  Francis 
awoke  he  thought  diligently  on  these  matters. 

Such  spiritual  experiences  are  incommunicable,  even 
though  the  man  should  try  to  tell  them.  But  we  know  that 
as  Francis  had  set  out  joyfully  expecting  worldly  glory, 
he  now  returned  with  exultation,  to  await  the  will  of  the 
Lord,  as  it  might  be  shown  him.  The  facts  and  also  their 
sequence  are  somewhat  confused  in  the  biographies. 

On  his  return  to  Assisi,  his  comrades  seem  to  have 
chosen  him  as  lord  of  their  revels;  again  he  ordained  a 
merry  feast;  but  as  they  set  forth  singing  gleefully,  Francis 
walked  behind  them,  holding  his  marshal’s  staff,  in  silence. 
Thoughts  of  the  Lord  had  come  again,  and  withdrawn  his 
attention : he  was  thinking  sweetly  of  the  Lord,  and  vilely 
of  himself.  Soon  after  he  is  found  providing  destitute 
chapels  with  the  requisites  for  a decent  service;  already — 
in  his  father’s  absence — he  is  filling  his  table  with  beggars; 
and  already  he  has  overcome  his  fastidious  temper,  has 
forced  himself  to  exchange  the  kiss  of  peace  with  lepers, 
and  has  kissed  the  livid  hands  in  which  he  presses  alms.1 
He  appears  to  have  made  a trip  to  St.  Peter’s  at  Rome, 
where,  standing  before  the  altar,  it  struck  him  that  the 
Prince  of  the  Apostles  was  being  honoured  with  mean 
offerings.  So  in  his  own  princely  way  he  flung  down  the 
contents  of  his  purse,  to  the  wonder  of  all.  Then  going 
without  the  church,  he  put  on  the  clothes  of  a beggar  and 
asked  alms. 

In  such  conduct  Francis  showed  himself  a poet  and  a 
saint.  Imagination  was  required  to  conceive  these  extreme, 
these  perfect  acts,  acts  perfect  in  their  carrying  out  of  a 
lovely  thought  to  its  fulfilment,  and  suffering  nothing  to 
impede  its  perfect  realization.  So  Francis  flings  down  all 
he  has,  and  not  a measure  of  his  goods ; he  puts  on  beggars’ 
clothes,  and  begs;  he  kisses  lepers’  hands,  eats  from  the 
same  bowl  with  them — acts  which  were  perfect  in  the  single- 
ness of  their  fulfilment  of  a saintly  motive,  acts  which  were 
likewise  beautiful.  They  are  instances  of  obsession  with  a 
saintly'  idea  of  great  spiritual  beauty,  obsession  so  complete 
that  the  ridiculous  or  hideous  concomitants  of  the  realiza- 


1 St.  Martin  of  Tours  had  done  the  same. 


CHAP.  XIX 


SAINT  FRANCIS 


439 


tion  serve  only  to  enhance  the  beauty  of  the  holy  thought 
perfectly  fulfilled. 

One  day  at  Assisi,  passing  by  the  church  of  St.  Damian, 
Francis  was  moved  to  enter  for  prayer.  As  he  prayed 
before  the  Crucifix,  the  image  seemed  to  say,  “ Francis,  dost 
thou  not  see  my  house  in  ruins?  Rebuild  it  for  me.”  And 
he  answered,  “ Gladly,  Lord,”  thinking  that  the  little  chapel 
of  St.  Damian  was  intended.  Filled  with  joy,  having  felt 
the  Crucified  in  his  soul,  he  sought  the  priest  and  gave  him 
money  to  buy  oil  for  the  lamp  before  the  Crucifix.  This 
day  was  ever  memorable  in  Francis’s  walk  with  God.  His 
way  had  lost  its  turning;  he  saw  his  life  before  him  clear, 
glad,  and  full  of  tears  of  love.  “From  that  hour  his  heart 
was  so  wounded  and  melted  at  the  memory  of  his  Lord’s 
passion  that  henceforth  while  he  lived  he  carried  in  his 
heart  the  marks  of  the  Lord  Jesus.  Again  he  was  seen 
walking  near  the  Portiuncula,  wailing  aloud.  And  in 
response  to  the  inquiries  of  a priest,  he  answered : ‘ I bewail 
the  passion  of  my  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  which  it  should  not 
shame  me  to  go  weeping  through  the  world ! 5 Often  as  he 
rose  from  prayer  his  eyes  were  full  of  blood,  because  he  had 
wept  so  bitterly.”  1 

It  appears  to  have  been  after  this  vision  in  St.  Damian’s 
Church  that  Francis  went  on  horseback  to  Foligno,  carrying 
pieces  of  cloth,  which  he  sold  there,  and  his  horse  as  well. 
He  travelled  back  on  foot,  and  seeking  out  St.  Damian’s 
astonished  little  priest,  he  kissed  his  hands  devoutly  and 
offered  him  the  money.  When,  for  fear  of  Bernardone,  the 
priest  would  not  receive  it,  Francis  threw  it  into  a box.  He 
prevailed  on  the  priest,  however,  to  let  him  stay  there. 

What  Bernardone  thought  of  this  son  of  his  is  better 
only  guessing.  The  St.  Damian  episode  brought  matters  to 
a crisis  between  the  two.  He  came  looking  for  his  son,  and 
Francis  escaped  to  a cave,  where  he  spent  a month  in  tears 
and  prayer  to  the  Lord,  that  he  might  be  freed  from  his 
father’s  pursuit,  so  that  he  might  fulfil  his  vows.  Gradually 
courage  and  joy  returned,  and  he  issued  from  his  cave  and 
took  his  way  to  the  town.  Former  acquaintances  of  his 
pursued  him  with  jeers  and  stones,  as  one  demented,  so 

1 III.  Soc.  v.  par.  13,  14. 


440 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


wretched  was  he  to  look  upon  after  his  sojourn  in  the  cave. 
He  made  no  reply,  save  to  give  thanks  to  God.  The 
hubbub  reached  the  father,  who  rushed  out  and  seized  his 
son,  beat  him,  and  locked  him  up  in  the  house.  From  this 
captivity  he  was  released  by  his  mother,  in  her  husband’s 
absence,  and  again  betook  himself  to  St.  Damian’s. 

Shortly  afterward  Bernardone  returned,  and  would  have 
haled  Francis  before  the  magistrates  of  the  town  for 
squandering  his  patrimony;  but  his  son  repudiated  their 
jurisdiction,  as  being  the  servant  of  God.  They  were  glad 
enough  to  turn  the  matter  over  to  the  bishop,  who  counselled 
Francis  to  give  back  the  money  which  was  his  father’s.  The 
scene  which  followed  has  been  made  famous  by  the  brush 
of  Giotto.  The  Three  Companions  narrate  it  thus  : 

“Then  arose  the  man  of  God  glad  and  comforted  by  the 
bishop’s  words,  and  fetching  the  money  said,  ‘My  lord,  not  only 
the  money  which  is  his  I wish  to  return  to  him,  but  my  clothes  as 
well,  and  gladly.’  Then  entering  the  bishop’s  chamber,  he  took 
off  his  clothes,  and  placing  the  money  upon  them,  went  out  again 
naked  before  them,  and  said : ‘Hear  ye  all  and  know.  Until  now 
I have  called  Pietro  Bernardone  my  father;  but  because  I have 
determined  to  serve  God,  I return  him  the  money  about  which  he 
was  disturbed,  and  these  clothes  which  I had  from  him,  wishing 
only  to  say,  “Our  Father  who  art  in  heaven”  and  not  “Father 
Pietro  Bernardone.”  ’ The  man  of  God  was  found  even  then  to 
have  worn  haircloth  beneath  his  gay  garments.  His  father  rising, 
incensed,  took  the  money  and  the  clothes.  As  he  carried  them 
away  to  his  house,  those  who  had  seen  the  sight  were  indignant 
that  he  had  left  not  a single  garment  for  his  son,  and  they  shed 
tears  of  pity  over  Francis.  The  bishop  was  moved  to  admiration 
at  the  constancy  of  the  man  of  God,  and  embraced  him  and 
covered  him  with  his  cloak.”  1 

Thus  Francis  was  indeed  made  naked  of  the  world. 
With  joy  he  hastened  back  to  St.  Damian’s ; and  there 
prepared  himself  a hermit  garb,  in  which  he  again  set  forth 
through  the  streets  of  the  city,  praising  God  and  soliciting 
stones  to  rebuild  the  Church.  As  he  went  he  cried  that 
whoever  gave  one  stone  should  have  one  reward,  and  he 
who  gave  two,  two  rewards,  and  he  who  gave  more  as  many 
rewards  as  he  gave  stones.  Many  laughed  at  him,  thinking 

1 III.  Soc.  vi.  par.  20. 


CHAP.  XIX 


SAINT  FRANCIS 


441 


him  crazy;  but  others  were  moved  to  tears  at  the  sight  of 
one  who  from  such  frivolity  and  vanity  had  so  quickly 
become  drunken  with  divine  love. 

Francis  became  a beggar  for  the  love  of  Christ,  seeking 
to  imitate  Him  who,  born  poor,  lived  poor,  and  had  no  place 
to  lay  His  head.  Not  only  did  he  beg  stones  to  rebuild  St. 
Damian’s,  but  he  began  to  go  from  house  to  house  with  a 
bowl  to  beg  his  food.  Naked  before  them  all,  he  had  chosen 
“holy  poverty,”  “lady  poverty”1  for  his  bride.  He  was 
filled  with  the  desire  to  copy  Christ  and  obey  His  words  to 
the  letter.  According  to  the  Three  Companions , when  the 
blessed  Francis  completed  the  church  of  St.  Damian,  his 
wont  was  to  wear  a hermit  garb  and  carry  a staff ; he  wore 
shoes  on  his  feet  and  a girdle  about  him.  But  listening  one 
day  to  Jesus’  words  to  His  disciples,  as  He  sent  them  out  to 
preach,  not  to  take  with  them  gold,  or  silver,  or  a wallet,  or 
bread,  or  a staff,  or  shoes,  nor  have  two  cloaks,  Francis  said 
with  joy:  “This  is  what  I desire  to  fulfil  with  my  whole 
strength.”  2 

The  literal  imitation  of  certain  particular  Gospel  instances, 
and  the  unconditional  carrying  out  of  certain  of  Christ’s 
specially  intended  precepts,  mark  Francis’s  understanding  of 
his  Lord.  It  is  exemplified  in  the  account  of  the  conversion 
of  Francis’s  first  disciple,  as  told  by  the  Three  Companions : 

“As  the  truth  of  the  blessed  Francis’s  simple  life  and  doctrine 
became  manifest  to  many,  two  years  after  his  own  conversion, 
certain  men  were  moved  to  penitence  by  his  example,  and  were 
drawn  to  give  up  everything  and  join  with  him  in  life  and  garb. 
Of  these  the  first  was  Bernard  of  saintly  memory,  who  reflecting 
upon  the  constancy  and  fervour  of  the  blessed  Francis  in  serving 
God,  and  with  what  labour  he  was  repairing  ruined  churches  and 
leading  a hard  life,  although  delicately  nurtured,  he  determined 
to  distribute  his  property  among  the  poor  and  cling  to  Francis. 
Accordingly  one  day  in  secret  he  approached  the  man  of  God  and 
disclosed  his  purpose,  at  the  same  time  requesting  that  on  such  an 
evening  he  would  come  to  him.  Having  no  companion  hitherto, 
the  blessed  Francis  gave  thanks  to  God,  and  rejoiced  greatly,  espe- 
cially as  Messer  ( dominus ) Bernard  was  a man  of  exemplary  life. 

1 “Sancta  paupertas,”  “domina  paupertas’1  are  the  phrases.  The  first  is  used 
by  St.  Bernard. 

•III.  Soc.  viii.;  i Cel.  ix. 


442 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


book  in 


“So  with  exulting  heart  the  blessed  Francis  went  to  his  house 
on  the  appointed  evening  and  stayed  all  night  with  him.  Messer 
Bernard  said  among  other  things : ‘ If  a person  should  have  much 
or  a little  from  his  lord,  and  have  held  it  many  years,  how  could  he  do 
with  the  same  what  would  be  the  best  ? ’ The  blessed  Francis  replied 
that  he  should  return  it  to  his  lord  from  whom  he  had  received  it. 

“And  Messer  Bernard  said:  ‘Therefore,  brother,  I wish  to 
distribute,  in  the  way  that  may  seem  best  to  thee,  all  my  worldly 
goods  for  love  of  my  Lord,  who  conferred  them  on  me.’ 

“To  whom  the  saint  said:  ‘In  the  morning  we  will  go  to  the 
Church,  and  will  learn  from  the  copy  {codex)  of  the  Gospels  there 
how  the  Lord  taught  His  disciples.’ 

“So  rising  in  the  morning,  with  a certain  other  named  Peter, 
who  also  desired  to  become  a brother,  they  went  to  the  church  of 
St.  Nicholas  close  to  the  piazza  of  the  city  Assisi.  And  commenc- 
ing to  pray  (because  they  were  simple  men  and  did  not  know  where 
to  find  the  Gospel  text  relating  to  the  renouncing  of  the  world) 
they  asked  the  Lord  devoutly,  that  He  would  deign  to  show  them 
His  will  at  the  first  opening  of  the  Book. 

“When  they  had  prayed,  the  blessed  Francis  taking  in  his 
hands  the  closed  book,  kneeling  before  the  altar  opened  it,  and  his 
eye  fell  first  upon  this  precept  of  the  Lord:  ‘If  thou  wouldst  be 
perfect,  go,  sell  all  that  thou  hast,  and  give  to  the  poor,  and  thou 
shalt  have  treasure  in  heaven.’  At  which  the  blessed  Francis  was 
very  glad  and  gave  thanks  to  God.  But  because  this  true  observer 
of  the  Trinity  wished  to  be  assured  with  threefold  witness,  he 
opened  the  Book  for  the  second  and  third  time.  The  second  time 
he  read,  ‘Carry  nothing  for  the  journey,’  and  the  third  time,  ‘Who 
wishes  to  come  after  me,  let  him  deny  himself.’ 

“At  each  opening  of  the  Book,  the  blessed  Francis  gave  thanks 
to  God  for  the  divine  confirmation  of  his  purpose  and  long-con- 
ceived desire,  and  then  said  to  Bernard  and  Peter : ‘ Brothers,  this 
is  our  life  and  this  is  our  rule,  and  the  life  and  rule  of  all  who  shall 
wish  to  join  our  society.  Go,  then,  and  as  you  have  heard,  so  do.’ 
“Messer  Bernard  went  away  (he  was  very  rich)  and,  having 
sold  his  possessions  and  got  together  much  money,  he  distributed 
it  to  the  poor  of  the  town.  Peter  also  complied  with  the  divine 
admonition  as  best  he  could.  They  both  assumed  the  habit  which 
Francis  had  adopted,  and  from  that  hour  lived  with  him  after  the 
model  ( formant ) of  the  holy  Gospel  shown  them  by  the  Lord. 
Therefore  the  blessed  Francis  has  said  in  his  Testament:  ‘The 
Lord  himself  revealed  to  me  that  I should  live  according  to  the 
model  {for mam)  of  the  holy  Gospel.’  ” 1 

1 III.  Soc.  viii. ; see  i Cel.  x.  and  2 Cel.  x. 


CHAP.  XIX 


SAINT  FRANCIS 


443 


The  words  which  met  the  eyes  of  Francis  on  first  open- 
ing this  Gospel-book,  had  nearly  a thousand  years  before  his 
time  driven  the  holy  Anthony  to  the  desert  of  the  Thebaid. 
Still  one  need  not  think  the  later  tale  a fruit  of  imitative 
legend.  The  accounts  of  Francis  afford  other  instances  of 
his  literal  acceptance  of  the  Gospels.1 

After  the  step  taken  by  Bernard  and  Peter,  others 
quickly  joined  themselves  to  Francis,  and  in  short  time  the 
small  company  took  up  its  abode  in  an  abandoned  cabin  at 
Rivo-torto,  near  Assisi.  In  a twelvemonth  or  more  they 
removed  to  the  little  church  of  Santa  Maria  de  Portiuncula 
(Saint  Mary  of  the  little  portion).2  In  the  meanwhile 
Francis  had  been  to  Rome  and  gained  papal  authorization 
from  the  great  Innocent  III.  for  his  lowly  way  of  life.  It 
would  be  hard  to  describe  the  joyfulness  of  these  first  Gospel 
days  of  the  brethren : they  come  and  go,  and  pray  and 
labour ; all  are  filled  with  joy ; gaudium,  jucunditas,  laeta- 
bantur , such  words  crowd  each  other  in  accounts  of  the  early 
days.  Their  love  was  complete;  they  would  gladly  give 
their  bodies  to  pain  or  death  not  only  for  the  love  of  Christ, 
but  for  the  love  of  each  other ; they  were  founded  and  rooted 
in  humility  and  love;  Francis’s  own  life  was  a song  of  joy, 
as  he  went  singing  (always  gallice ) and  abounding  in  love 
and  its  joyful  prayers  and  tears.  What  joy  indeed  could  be 

1 Spec.  per.  3,  9,  19,  122.  How  truly  he  also  felt  their  spirit  is  seen  in  the 
story  of  his  words,  at  a somewhat  later  period,  to  a certain  Dominican : “ While 
he  was  staying  at  Siena,  a certain  doctor  of  theology,  of  the  order  of  the  Preachers, 
himself  an  humble  and  spiritual  man,  came  to  him.  When  they  had  spoken  for 
a while  about  the  words  of  the  Lord,  this  master  interrogated  him  concerning  this 
text  of  Ezekiel : ‘ If  thou  dost  not  declare  to  the  wicked  man  his  wickedness, 

1 will  require  his  soul  of  thy  hand’  (Ezek.  iii.  18).  And  he  added:  ‘ I know 
many  indeed,  good  father,  in  mortal  sin,  to  whom  I do  not  declare  their  wickedness. 
Will  their  souls  be  required  at  my  hand?’ 

“To  whom  the  blessed  Francis  humbly  said  that  it  was  fitting  that  an  ignorant 
person  like  himself  should  be  taught  by  him  rather  than  give  answer  upon  the  mean- 
ing of  Scripture.  Then  that  humble  master  replied:  ‘Brother,  albeit  I have  heard 

the  exposition  of  this  text  from  a number  of  the  wise,  still  would  I willingly  make  note 
of  your  understanding  of  it.’ 

“So  the  blessed  Francis  said:  ‘If  the  text  is  to  be  understood  generally,  I 
take  it  to  mean  that  the  servant  of  God  ought  by  his  life  and  holiness  so  to  burn  and 
shine  in  himself,  that  the  light  of  his  example  and  the  tenor  of  his  holy  con- 
versation would  reprove  all  wicked  men.  Thus  I say  will  his  splendour  and  the 
odour  of  his  reputation  declare  their  iniquities  to  all.’”  Spec,  per f.  53;  also 

2 Cel.  iii.  46. 

2 As  to  the  acquisition  of  the  Portiuncula  see  Spec,  per f.  55,  and  on  Francis’s 
love  of  it  see  Spec,  per f.  82-84,  124. 


444 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


greater  than  his ; he  had  given  himself  to  his  Lord,  and  had 
been  accepted.  One  day  he  had  retired  for  contemplation, 
and  as  he  prayed,  “God  be  merciful  to  me  a sinner,”  an 
ineffable  joy  and  sweetness  was  shed  in  his  heart.  He 
began  to  fall  away  from  himself ; the  anxieties  and  fears 
which  a sense  of  sin  had  set  in  his  heart  were  dispelled,  and  a 
certitude  of  the  remission  of  his  sins  took  possession  of  him. 
His  mind  dilated  and  a joyful  vision  made  him  seem  another 
man  when  he  returned  and  said  in  gladness  to  the  brethren : 
“Be  comforted,  my  best  beloved,  and  rejoice  in  the  Lord. 
Do  not  feel  sad  because  you  seem  so  few.  Let  neither  my 
simplicity  nor  yours  abash  you,  for  it  has  been  shown  me  of 
the  Lord  that  God  will  make  of  you  a great  multitude,  and 
multiply  you  to  the  confines  of  the  earth.  I saw  a great 
multitude  of  men  coming  to  us,  desiring  to  assume  the  habit 
and  rule  of  our  blessed  religion;  and  the  sound  of  them  is 
in  my  ears  as  they  come  and  go  according  to  the  command 
of  holy  obedience;  and  I saw  the  ways  filled  with  them 
from  every  nation.  Frenchmen  come,  and  Spaniards  hurry, 
Germans  and  English  run,  and  a multitude  speaking  other 
tongues.” 1 

Thus  far  the  life  of  Francis  was  a poem,  even  as  it  was 
to  be  unto  the  end ; for,  although  the  saint’s  plans  might  be 
thwarted  by  the  wisdom  and  frailty  of  men,  his  words  and 
actions  did  not  cease  to  realize  the  exquisite  conceptions  of 
his  soul.  But  the  volume  of  his  life,  from  this  time  on, 
becomes  too  large  for  us  to  follow,  embracing  as  it  does  the 
far  from  simple  history  of  the  first  decades  of  his  Order. 
Our  object  is  still  to  observe  his  personality,  and  his  love  of 
God  and  man  and  creature-kind. 

Francis’s  mind  was  as  simple  as  his  heart  was  single. 
He  had  no  distinctly  intellectual  interests,  as  nothing 
appealed  to  his  mentality  alone.2  In  his  consciousness,  every- 
thing related  itself  to  his  way  of  life,  its  yearnings  and 
aversions.  Whatever  was  unsuited  to  enter  into  this  catholic 
relationship  repelled  rather  than  interested  him.  Hence  he 
was  averse  to  studies  which  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
man’s  closer  walk  with  God,  and  love  of  fellow.  “My 
brothers  who  are  led  by  the  curiosity  of  knowledge  will  find 

1 i Cel.  xi.  2 This  seems  to  be  true  of  Francis’s  great  Exemplar. 


CHAP.  XIX 


SAINT  FRANCIS 


445 


their  hands  empty  in  the  day  of  tribulation.  I would  wish 
them  rather  to  be  strengthened  by  virtues,  that  when  the 
time  of  tribulation  comes  they  may  have  the  Lord  with 
them  in  their  straits — for  such  a time  will  come  when  they 
will  throw  their  good-for-nothing  books  into  holes  and 
corners.”  1 

The  moral  temper  of  Francis  was  childlike  in  its  simple 
truth.  He  could  not  endure  in  the  smallest  matter  to  seem 
other  than  as  he  was  before  God:  “As  much  as  a man  is 

before  God  so  much  is  he,  and  no  more.”  2 Once  in  Lent 
he  ate  of  cakes  cooked  in  lard,  because  everything  cooked 
in  oil  violently  disagreed  with  him.  When  Lent  was  over, 
he  thus  began  his  first  sermon  to  a concourse  of  people : 
“You  have  come  to  me  with  great  devotion,  believing  me  to 
be  a holy  man,  but  I confess  to  God  and  to  you  that  in  this 
Lent  I have  eaten  cakes  cooked  in  lard.” 3 At  another 
time,  when  in  severe  sickness  he  had  somewhat  exceeded 
the  pittance  of  food  which  he  allowed  himself,  he  rose,  still 
shaking  with  fever,  and  went  and  preached  to  the  people. 
When  the  sermon  was  over,  he  retired  a moment,  and 
having  first  exacted  a promise  of  obedience  from  the  monks 
accompanying  him,  he  threw  off  his  cloak,  tied  a rope  around 
his  waist,  and  commanded  them  to  drag  him  naked  before 
the  people,  and  there  cast  ashes  in  his  face ; all  which  was 
done  by  the  weeping  monks.  And  then  he  confessed  his 
fault  to  all.4 

Francis  took  joy  in  obedience  and  humility.  One  of 
his  motives  in  resigning  the  headship  of  the  Order  was  that 
he  might  have  a superior  to  obey.5  However  pained  by  the 
shortcomings  and  corruptions  of  the  Church,  he  was  always 
obedient  and  reverent.  He  had  no  thought  of  revolution, 
but  the  hope  of  purifying  all.  One  day  certain  brothers 
said  to  him:  “Father,  do  you  not  see  that  the  bishops  do 

not  let  us  preach,  and  keep  us  for  days  standing  idle,  before 
we  are  able  to  declare  the  word  of  God?  Would  it  not  be 
better  to  obtain  the  privilege  from  the  Pope,  that  there 
might  be  a salvation  of  souls?” 

1 Spec.  perf.  69;  2 Cel.  iii.  124;  III.  Soc.  25. 

2 Francisci  admonitiones , xx.  3 Spec.  perf.  62;  2 Cel.  iii.  71. 

4 Spec.  perf.  61 ; see  1 Cel.  19.  6 2 Cel.  iii.  81 ; Spec.  perf.  39. 


446 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


“You,  brothers  Minorites,”  answered  Francis,  “know 
not  the  will  of  God,  and  do  not  permit  me  to  convert  the 
whole  world,  which  is  God’s  will;  for  I wish  first  through 
holy  obedience  and  reverence  to  convert  the  prelates,  who, 
when  they  see  our  holy  life  and  humble  reverence  for  them, 
will  beg  you  to  preach  and  convert  the  people,  and  will 
call  the  people  to  hear  you  far  better  than  your  privileges, 
which  draw  you  to  pride.  For  me,  I desire  this  privilege 
from  the  Lord  that  I may  never  have  any  privilege  from 
man  except  to  do  reverence  to  all,  and  through  obedience 
to  our  holy  rule  of  life  convert  mankind  more  by  example 
than  by  word.”  1 

And  again  he  said  to  the  brothers:  “We  are  sent  to 
aid  the  clergy  in  the  salvation  of  souls,  and  what  is  found 
lacking  in  them  should  be  supplied  by  us.  Know,  brothers, 
that  the  gain  of  souls  is  most  pleasing  to  God,  and  this  we 
may  win  better  by  peace  with  the  clergy,  than  by  discord. 
If  they  hinder  the  salvation  of  the  people,  vengeance  is 
God’s  and  He  will  repay  in  time.  So  be  ye  subject  to  the 
prelates  and  take  heed  on  your  part  that  no  jealousy  arise. 
If  ye  are  sons  of  peace  ye  shall  gain  both  clergy  and  people, 
and  this  will  be  more  acceptable  to  God  than  to  gain  the 
people  alone  by  scandalizing  the  clergy.  Cover  their  slips, 
and  supply  their  deficiencies ; and  when  ye  shall  have  done 
this  be  ye  the  more  humble.  ’ ’ 2 

So  Francis  loved  sancta  obedientia  as  he  called  it.  As 
a wise  builder  he  set  himself  upon  a rock,  to  wit,  the  perfect 
humility  and  poverty  of  the  Son  of  God ; and  because  of  his 
own  humility  he  called  his  company  the  Minorites  (the 
“lesser”  brethren).3  For  himself,  he  deemed  that  he  should 
most  rejoice  when  men  should  revile  him  and  cast  him  forth 
in  shame,  and  not  when  they  revered  and  honoured  him.4 

Above  all  he  loved  his  “lady  poverty”  and  could  not 
say  enough  to  impress  his  followers  with  her  high  worth 
and  beauty,  and  with  the  dignity  and  nobility  of  begging 
alms  for  the  love  of  the  Lord.5  As  a high-born  lady,  poor 
and  beautiful,  he  had  seen  her  in  a vision,  in  the  midst  of 

1 Spec,  per f.  50.  2 Spec.  perf.  54 ; 2 Cel.  iii.  84.  3 Spec.  perf.  44. 

4 Spec.  perf.  64;  III.  Soc.  39;  2 Cel.  iii.  83;  cf.  Admon.  iii. 

5 Cf.  Spec.  perf.  22  and  23;  2 Cel.  iii.  23. 


CHAP.  XIX 


SAINT  FRANCIS 


447 


a desert,  and  worthy  to  be  wooed  by  the  King.1  In  the 
early  days  when  the  brothers  were  a little  band,  Francis 
had  gone  about  and  begged  for  all.  He  loved  them  so 
that  he  dreaded  to  require  what  might  shame  them.  But 
when  the  labour  was  too  great  for  one  man,  so  delicate  and 
weak,  he  said  to  them:  “Best  beloved  brothers  and  my 
children,  do  not  be  ashamed  to  go  for  alms,  because  the 
Lord  made  Himself  poor  for  us  in  this  world  after  whose 
example  we  have  chosen  the  truest  poverty.  For  this  is 
our  heritage,  which  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  achieved  and  left 
to  us  and  to  all  who,  after  His  example,  wish  to  live  in  holy 
poverty.  I tell  you  of  a truth  that  many  wise  and  noble  of 
this  world  shall  join  that  congregation  and  hold  it  for  an 
honour  and  a grace  to  go  out  for  alms.  Therefore  boldly 
and  with  glad  heart  seek  alms  with  God’s  blessing;  and 
more  freely  and  gladly  should  you  seek  alms  than  he  who 
offers  a hundred  pieces  of  money  for  one  coin,  since  to  those 
from  whom  you  ask  alms  you  offer  the  love  of  God,  saying, 
‘Do  us  an  alms  for  the  love  of  the  Lord  God,’  in  comparison 
with  which  heaven  and  earth  are  nothing.”  2 

With  Francis  all  virtues  were  holy  (. sancta  obedientia , 
sancta  paupertas).  Righteousness,  goodness,  piety,  lay  in 
imitating  and  obeying  his  Lord.  What  joy  was  there  in 
loving  Christ,  and  being  loved  by  Him ! and  what  an 
eternity  of  bliss  awaited  the  Christian  soul ! To  do  right, 
to  imitate  Christ  and  obey  and  love  Him,  is  a privilege. 
Can  it  be  other  than  a joy?  Indeed,  this  following  of 
Christ  is  so  blessed,  that  not  to  rejoice  continually  in  it, 
betokens  some  failure  in  obedience  and  love.  Many  have 
approved  this  Christian  logic ; but  to  realize  it  in  one’s 
heart  and  manifest  it  in  one’s  life,  was  the  more  singular 
grace  of  Francis  of  Assisi.  His  heart  sang  always  unto 
the  Lord ; his  love  flowed  out  in  gladness  to  his  fellows ; 
his  enchanted  spirit  rejoiced  in  every  creature.  The  gospel 
of  this  new  evangelist  awoke  the  hearts  of  men  to  love  and 
joy.  Nothing  rejoiced  him  more  than  to  see  his  sons  rejoice 
in  the  Lord ; and  nothing  was  more  certain  to  draw  forth 
his  tender  reproof  than  a sad  countenance. 

1 III.  Soc.  xii.  so,  si. 

1 Spec.  perf.  18;  cf.  2 Cel.  iii.  20. 


448 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


“Once  while  the  blessed  Francis  was  at  the  Portiuncula,  a 
certain  good  beggar  came  along  the  way,  returning  from  alms- 
begging  in  Assisi,  and  he  went  along  praising  God  with  a high 
voice  and  great  jocundity.  As  he  approached,  Francis  heard  him, 
and  ran  out  and  met  him  in  the  way,  and  joyfully  kissed  his 
shoulder  where  he  bore  the  wallet  containing  the  gifts.  Then  he 
lifted  the  wallet,  and  set  it  on  his  own  shoulder,  and  so  carried  it 
within,  and  said  to  the  brothers : ‘Thus  I wish  to  have  my  brothers 
go  and  return  with  alms,  joyful  and  glad  and  praising  God.’  ” 1 

“Aside  from  prayer  and  the  divine  service,  the  blessed  Francis 
was  most  zealous  in  preserving  continually  an  inward  and  outward 
spiritual  gladness.  And  this  he  especially  cherished  in  the 
brothers,  and  would  reprove  them  for  sadness  and  depression. 
For  he  said  that  if  the  servant  of  God  would  study  to  preserve, 
inwardly  and  outwardly,  the  spiritual  joy  which  rises  from  purity 
of  heart,  and  is  acquired  through  the  devotion  of  prayer,  the  devils 
could  not  harm  him,  for  they  say : So  long  as  the  servant  of  God 
is  joyful  in  tribulation  and  prosperity,  we  cannot  enter  into  him 
or  harm  him.  . . . To  our  enemy  and  his  members  it  pertains 
to  be  sad,  but  to  us  always  to  rejoice  and  be  glad  in  the  Lord.”  2 

Thus  the  glad  temper  of  his  young  unconverted  days 
passed  into  his  saintly  life,  of  which  Christ  was  the  primal 
source  of  rapture. 

“Drunken  with  the  love  and  pity  of  Christ,  the  blessed  Francis 
would  sometimes  act  like  this,  for  the  sweetest  melody  of  spirit 
within  him  often  boiling  outward  gave  sound  in  French,  and  the 
strain  of  the  divine  whisper  which  his  ear  had  taken  secretly, 
broke  forth  in  a glad  French  song.  He  would  pick  up  a stick  and, 
holding  it  over  his  left  arm,  would  with  another  stick  in  his  right 
hand  make  as  if  drawing  a bow  across  a violin  ( viellam ),  and  with 
fitting  gestures  would  sing  in  French  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 
At  last  this  dancing  would  end  in  tears,  and  the  jubilee  turn  to 
pity  for  the  Passion  of  Christ.  Thereupon  sighing  continuously 
with  redoubled  groans,  forgetting  what  he  held  in  his  hand,  he 
would  be  drawn  up  to  heaven.”  3 

Francis  had  been  a lover  from  his  youth ; naturally  and 
always  he  had  loved  his  kind.  But  from  the  time  when 
Christ  held  his  heart  and  mind,  his  love  of  fellow-man  was 

1 Spec.  perf.  25;  2 Cel.  iii.  22. 

2 Spec.  perf.  95;  2 Cel.  iii.  65.  But  Francis  condemned  all  vain  and  foolish 
words  which  move  to  laughter  ( Admon . xxi. ; Spec.  perf.  96). 

* Spec.  perf.  93 ; 2 Cel.  iii.  67 


CHAP.  XIX 


SAINT  FRANCIS 


449 


moulded  by  his  thought  and  love  of  Christ.  Henceforth 
the  loving  acts  of  Francis  moving  among  his  fellows  become 
a loving  following  of  Christ.  He  sees  in  every  man  the 
character  and  person  of  his  Lord,  soliciting  his  love,  com- 
manding what  he  should  do.  He  never  refused,  or  per- 
mitted his  followers  to  refuse,  what  was  asked  in  Christ’s 
name ; but  it  displeased  him  when  he  heard  the  brothers 
ask  lightly  for  the  love  of  God,  and  he  would  reprove  them, 
saying:  “So  high  and  precious  is  God’s  love  that  it  never 
should  be  invoked  save  with  great  reverence  and  under 
pressing  need.”  1 

Such  a man  felt  strong  personal  affection.  Pure  and 
wise  was  his  love  for  Santa  Clara ; 2 and  a deep  affection 
for  one  of  his  earliest  and  closest  followers  touches  us  in  his 
letter  to  brother  Leo.  Not  all  of  the  writings  ascribed  to 
Francis  breathe  his  spirit;  but  we  hear  his  voice  in  this 
letter  as  it  closes:  “And  if  it  is  needful  for  thy  soul  or  for 
thy  consolation,  and  thou  dost  wish,  my  Leo,  to  come  to 
me,  come.  Farewell  in  Christ.” 

Francis’s  love  was  unfailing  in  compassionate  word  and 
deed.  Although  cold  and  sick,  he  would  give  his  cloak 
away  at  the  first  demand,  till  his  own  appointed  minister- 
general  commanded  him  on  his  obedience  not  to  do  so 
without  permission ; and  he  saw  that  the  brothers  did  not 
injure  themselves  with  fasting,  though  he  took  slight  care  of 
himself.  On  one  occasion  he  had  them  all  partake  of  a 
meal,  in  order  that  one  delicate  brother,  who  needed  food, 
might  not  be  put  to  shame  eating  while  the  rest  fasted. 
And  once,  early  in  the  morning,  he  led  an  old  and  feeble 
brother  secretly  to  a certain  vineyard,  and  there  ate  grapes 
before  him,  that  he  might  not  be  ashamed  to  do  likewise, 
for  his  health.3 

The  effect  of  his  sweet  example  melted  the  hearts  of 
angry  men,  reconciling  such  as  had  been  wronged  to  those 
who  had  wronged  them,  and  leading  ruffians  back  to  ways 
of  gentleness.  His  conduct  on  learning  of  certain  dis- 
sensions in  Assisi  illustrates  his  method  of  restoring  peace 
and  amity. 

1 Spec,  per /.  34.  2 Cf.  Spec.  perf.  108;  2 Cel.  132. 

3 Spec.  perf.  27,  28,  33;  cf.  2 Cel.  i.  15;  ibid.  iii.  30  and  36. 

VOL.  I 


2 G 


450 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


“After  the  blessed  Francis  had  composed  the  Lauds  of  the 
creatures,  which  he  called  the  Canticle  of  Brother  Sun,  it  happened 
that  great  dissension  arose  between  the  bishop  and  the  podesta  of 
the  City  of  Assisi,  so  that  the  bishop  excommunicated  the  podesta, 
and  the  podesta  made  proclamation  that  no  person  should  sell 
anything  to  the  bishop  or  buy  from  him  or  make  any  contract 
with  him. 

“When  the  blessed  Francis  (who  was  now  so  very  sick)  heard 
this,  he  was  greatly  moved  with  pity,  since  no  one  interposed 
between  them  to  make  peace.  And  he  said  to  his  companions: 
4 It  is  a great  shame  for  us  servants  of  God  that  the  bishop  and  the 
podesta  hate  each  other  so,  and  none  interposes  to  make  peace.’ 

“And  so  for  this  occasion  he  at  once  made  a verse  in  the  Lauds 
above  mentioned  and  said : 

‘Praised  be  thou,  O my  Lord,  for  those  who  forgive  from  love  of  thee, 
And  endure  sickness  and  tribulation. 

Blessed  are  those  who  shall  endure  in  peace, 

For  by  thee,  Most  High,  shall  they  be  crowned.’ 

“Then  he  called  one  of  his  companions  and  said  to  him : ‘Go 
to  the  podesta,  and  on  my  behalf  tell  him  to  come  to  the  bishop’s 
palace  with  the  magnates  of  the  city  and  others  that  he  may  bring 
with  him.’ 

“And  as  that  brother  went,  he  said  to  two  other  of  his  com- 
panions : ‘ Go  before  the  bishop  and  podesta  and  the  others  who 
may  be  with  them,  and  sing  the  Canticle  of  Brother  Sun,  and  I 
trust  in  the  Lord  that  He  will  straightway  humble  their  hearts, 
and  they  will  return  to  their  former  affection  and  friendship.’ 

“When  all  were  assembled  in  the  piazza  of  the  episcopate,  the 
two  brothers  arose,  and  one  of  them  said:  ‘The  blessed  Francis 
in  his  sickness  made  a Lauds  of  the  Lord  from  His  creatures  in 
praise  of  the  Lord  and  for  the  edification  of  our  neighbour. 
Wherefore  he  begs  that  you  would  listen  to  it  with  great  devout- 
ness.’ And  then  they  began  to  say  and  sing  them. 

“At  once  the  podesta  rose,  and  with  folded  hands  listened 
intently,  as  if  it  were  the  Lord’s  gospel;  this  he  did  with  the 
greatest  devoutness  and  with  many  tears,  for  he  had  great  trust 
and  devotion  toward  the  blessed  Francis. 

“When  the  Lauds  of  the  Lord  were  finished,  the  podesta  said 
before  them  all:  ‘Truly  I say  to  you  that  not  only  my  lord- 

bishop,  whom  I wish  and  ought  to  hold  as  my  lord,  but  if  any  one 
had  slain  my  brother  or  son  I would  forgive  him.’  And  so  saying, 
he  threw  himself  at  the  bishop’s  feet,  and  said  to  him:  ‘Look, 
I am  ready  in  all  things  to  make  satisfaction  to  you  as  shall  please 


CHAP.  XIX 


SAINT  FRANCIS 


45i 


you,  for  the  love  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  and  His  servant  the 
blessed  Francis.’ 

“The  bishop  accepting  him,  raised  him  with  his  hands  and 
said : ‘ Because  of  my  office  it  became  me  to  be  humble,  and  since  I 
am  naturally  quick-tempered  you  ought  to  pardon  me.’  And  so 
with  great  kindness  and  love  they  embraced  and  kissed  each  other. 

“The  brothers  were  astounded  and  made  glad  when  they  saw 
fulfilled  to  the  letter  the  concord  predicted  by  the  blessed  Francis. 
And  all  others  present  ascribed  it  as  a great  miracle  to  the  merits 
of  the  blessed  Francis,  that  the  Lord  suddenly  had  visited  them, 
and  out  of  such  dissension  and  scandal  had  brought  such  concord.”  1 

It  would  be  mistaken  to  refer  to  any  single  pious 
sentiment  the  saint’s  blithe  love  of  animals  and  birds  and 
flowers,  and  his  regard  even  for  senseless  things.  It  is  right, 
however,  for  Thomas  of  Celano,  as  a proper  monkish 
biographer,  to  say: 

“While  hastening  through  this  world  of  pilgrimage  and  exile 
that  traveller  (Francis)  rejoiced  in  those  things  which  are  in  the 
world,  and  not  a little.  As  toward  the  princes  of  darkness  he 
used  the  world  as  a field  for  battle,  but  as  toward  the  Lord  he 
treated  it  as  the  brightest  mirror  of  goodness;  in  the  fabric  he 
commended  the  Artificer,  and  what  he  found  in  created  things, 
he  referred  to  the  Maker;  he  exulted  over  all  the  works  of  the 
hands  of  the  Lord,  and  in  the  pleasing  spectacle  beheld  the  life- 
giving  reason  and  the  cause.  In  beautiful  things  he  perceived 
that  which  was  most  beautiful,  as  all  good  things  acclaim,  He 
who  made  us  is  best.  Through  vestiges  impressed  on  things  he 
followed  his  chosen,  and  made  of  all  a ladder  by  which  to  reach 
the  throne.  He  embraced  all  things  in  a feeling  of  unheard-of 
devotion,  speaking  to  them  concerning  the  Lord  and  exhorting 
them  in  His  praise.”  2 

This  was  true,  even  if  it  was  not  all  the  truth.  Living 
creatures  spoke  to  Francis  of  their  Maker,  while  things  in- 
sensible aroused  his  reverence  through  their  suggestiveness, 
their  scriptural  associations,  or  their  symbolism.  But  beyond 
these  motives  there  was  in  this  poet  Francis  a happy  love 
of  nature.  If  nature  always  spoke  to  him  of  God,  its  loveli- 
ness needed  no  stimulation  of  devotion  in  order  to  be  loved 
by  him.  His  feeling  for  it  found  everywhere  sensibility  and 

1 Spec.  per/,  ioi.  This  is  one  of  the  apparently  unsupported  stories  of  the  Specu- 
lum, that  none  would  like  to  doubt. 

2 2 Cel.  iii.  cap.  ioi. 


452 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


responsiveness.  He  was  as  if  possessed  by  an  imaginative 
animism,  wherein  every  object  had  a soul.  His  acts  and  words 
may  appear  fantastic ; they  never  lack  loveliness  and  beauty.1 

“Wrapped  in  the  love  of  God,  the  blessed  Francis  perfectly 
discerned  the  goodness  of  God  not  only  in  his  own  soul  but  in 
every  creature.  Wherefore  he  was  affected  with  a singular  and 
yearning  ( viscerosa ) love  toward  creatures,  and  especially  toward 
those  in  which  was  figured  something  of  God  or  something  per- 
taining to  religion. 

“Whence  above  all  birds  he  loved  a little  bird  called  the  lark 
(the  lodola  capellata  of  the  vulgar  tongue)  and  would  say  of  her: 
‘Sister  lark  has  a hood  like  a Religious  and  is  a humble  bird, 
because  she  goes  willingly  along  the  road  to  find  for  herself  some 
grains  of  corn.  Even  if  she  find  them  in  dung  she  picks  them  out 
and  eats  them.  In  flying  she  praises  the  Lord  very  sweetly,  as  the 
good  Religious  look  down  upon  earthly  things,  whose  conversation 
is  always  in  the  heavens  and  whose  intent  is  always  upon  the 
praise  of  God.  Her  garments  are  like  earth,  that  is,  her  feathers, 
and  set  an  example  to  the  Religious  that  they  should  not  have 
delicate  and  gaudy  garments,  but  such  as  are  vile  in  price  and 
colour,  as  earth  is  viler  than  other  elements.’  ” 2 

The  unquestionably  true  story  of  Francis  preaching  to 
the  birds  is  known  to  all,  especially  to  readers  of  the 
Fioretti.  Thus  Thomas  of  Celano  tells  it : As  the  blessed 
Father  Francis  was  journeying  through  the  Spoleto  Valley, 
he  reached  a place  near  Mevanium,  where  there  was  a 
multitude  of  birds — doves,  crows,  and  other  kinds.  When 
he  saw  them,  for  the  love  and  sweet  affection  which  he 
bore  toward  the  lower  creatures,  he  quickly  ran  to  them, 
leaving  his  companions.  As  he  came  near  and  saw  that 
they  were  waiting  for  him,  he  saluted  them  in  his  accustomed 
way.  Then  wondering  that  they  did  not  take  flight,  he 
was  very  glad,  and  humbly  begged  them  to  listen  to  the 
word  of  God;  among  other  things  he  said  to  them:  “My 

brothers  who  fly,  verily  you  should  praise  the  Lord  your 
Maker  and  love  Him  always,  who  gave  you  feathers  to 

1 One  is  tempted  to  amuse  oneself  with  paradox,  and  say : Not  he  of  Vaucluse, 
who  ascended  a mountain  for  the  view  and  left  a record  of  his  sentiments,  but  he  of 
Assisi,  who  loved  the  sheep,  the  birds,  the  flowers,  the  stones,  and  fire  and  water,  was 
‘‘the  first  modern  man.”  But  such  statements  are  foolish ; there  was  no  “first  modern 
man.” 

2 Spec.  perf.  113. 


CHAP.  XIX 


SAINT  FRANCIS 


453 


clothe  you  and  wings  to  fly  with  and  whatever  was  necessary 
to  you.  God  made  you  noble  among  creatures,  prepared 
your  mansion  in  the  purity  of  air;  and  though  you  neither 
sow  nor  reap,  nevertheless  without  any  solicitude  on  your 
part,  He  protects  and  guides  you.” 

At  this,  those  little  birds  as  he  was  speaking,  mar- 
vellously exulting,  began  to  stretch  out  their  necks  and 
spread  their  wings  and  open  their  beaks,  looking  at  him. 
He  passed  through  their  midst,  sweeping  their  heads  and 
bodies  with  his  mantle.  At  length  he  blessed  them,  and 
with  the  sig;n  of  the  cross  gave  them  leave  to  fly  away. 
Then  returning  gladdened  to  his  companions,  he  yet  blamed 
himself  for  his  neglect  to  preach  to  the  birds  before,  since 
they  so  reverently  heard  the  word  of  God.  And  from  that 
day  he  ceased  not  to  exhort  all  flying  and  creeping  things, 
and  even  things  insensible,  to  the  praise  and  love  of  their 
Creator.1 

Thomas  also  says  that  above  all  animals  Francis  loved 
the  lambs,  because  so  frequently  in  Scripture  the  humility 
of  our  Lord  is  likened  unto  a lamb.  One  day,  as  Francis 
was  making  his  way  through  the  March  of  Ancona  he  met 
a goat-herd  pasturing  his  flock  of  goats.  Among  them, 
humbly  and  quietly,  a little  lamb  was  feeding.  Francis 
stopped  as  he  saw  it,  and,  deeply  touched,  said  to  the 
brother  accompanying  him:  “Dost  thou  see  this  sheep 

walking  so  gently  among  the  goats?  I tell  you,  thus  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  used  to  walk  mild  and  humble  among 
Pharisees  and  chief  priests.  For  love  of  Him,  then,  I beg 
thee,  my  son,  to  buy  this  little  sheep  with  me  and  lead  it 
out  from  among  these  goats.” 

The  brother  was  also  moved  with  pity.  They  had 
nothing  with  them  save  their  wretched  cloaks,  but  a merchant 
chancing  to  come  along  the  way,  the  money  was  obtained 
from  him.  Giving  thanks  to  God  and  leading  the  sheep 
they  had  bought,  they  reached  the  town  of  Osimo  whither 
they  were  going;  and  entering  the  house  of  the  bishop, 
were  honourably  received  by  him.  Yet  my  lord  bishop 
wondered  at  the  sheep  which  Francis  was  leading  with  such 
tender  love.  But  when  Francis  had  set  forth  the  parable 

1 Cel.  xxi.  58. 


454 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


of  his  sermon,  the  bishop  too  was  touched  and  gave  thanks 
to  God. 

The  following  day  they  considered  what  to  do  with  the 
sheep,  and  it  was  given  over  to  the  nuns  of  the  cloister  of 
St.  Severinus,  who  received  it  as  a great  boon  given  them 
from  God.  Long  while  they  cared  for  it,  and  in  the  course 
of  time  wove  a cloak  from  its  wool,  which  they  sent  to  the 
blessed  Francis  at  the  Portiuncula  at  the  time  of  a Chapter 
meeting.  The  saint  accepted  it  with  joy,  and  kissed  it, 
and  begged  all  the  brothers  to  be  glad  with  him.1 

Celano  also  tells  how  Francis  loved  the  grass  and  vines 
and  stones  and  woods,  and  all  comely  things  in  the  fields, 
also  the  streams,  and  earth  and  fire  and  air,  and  called 
every  creature  “brother”;2  also  how  he  would  not  put 
out  the  flame  of  a lamp  or  candle,  how  he  walked  rever- 
ently upon  stones,  and  was  careful  to  injure  no  living 
thing.3 

1 i Cel.  cap.  xxviii.  2 i Cel.  cap.  xxix. 

* 2 Cel.  iii.  ioi.  These  matters  are  set  forth  more  picturesquely  in  the  Speculum 
perfectionis ; if  authentic,  they  throw  a vivid  light  on  this  wonderful  person.  Here 
are  examples: 

“Francis  had  come  to  the  hermitage  of  Fonte  Palumbo,  near  Riete,  to  cure 
the  infirmity  of  his  eyes,  as  he  was  ordered  on  his  obedience  by  the  lord-cardinal 
of  Ostia  and  by  Brother  Elias,  minister-general.  There  the  doctor  advised  a 
cautery  over  the  cheek  as  far  as  the  eyebrow  of  the  eye  that  was  in  worse  state. 
Francis  wished  to  wait  till  brother  Elias  came,  but  when  he  was  kept  from  coming 
Francis  prepared  himself.  And  when  the  iron  was  set  in  the  fire  to  heat  it,  Francis, 
wishing  to  comfort  his  spirit,  lest  he  be  afraid,  spoke  to  the  fire:  ‘My  Brother 
Fire,  noble  and  useful  among  other  creatures,  be  courteous  to  me  in  this  hour, 
since  I have  loved  and  will  love  thee  for  the  love  of  Him  who  made  thee.  I also 
beseech  our  Creator,  who  made  us  both,  that  He  may  temper  thy  heat  so  that  I 
may  bear  it.’  And  when  his  prayer  was  finished  he  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  over 
the  fire. 

“We  indeed  who  were  with  him  then  fled  for  pity  and  compassion,  and  the 
doctor  remained  alone  with  him.  When  the  cautery  was  finished,  we  returned, 
and  he  said  to  us:  ‘Fearful  and  of  little  faith,  why  did  you  flee?  I tell  you 
truly  I felt  no  pain,  nor  any  heat  of  the  fire.  If  it  is  not  well  seared  he  may  sear  it 
better.’ 

“The  astonished  doctor  assured  them  all  that  the  cautery  was  so  severe  that 
a strong  man,  let  alone  one  so  weak,  could  hardly  have  endured  it,  while  Francis 
showed  no  sign  of  pain”  {Spec.  perf.  115).  “Thus  fire  treated  Francis  courteously; 
for  he  had  never  failed  to  treat  it  reverently  and  respect  its  rights.  Once  his 
clothes  caught  fire,  and  he  would  not  put  it  out,  and  forbade  a brother,  saying: 
‘Nay,  dearest  brother,  do  no  harm  to  the  fire.’  He  would  never  put  out  fire, 
and  did  not  wish  any  brother  to  throw  away  a fire  or  push  a smoking  log  away,  but 
wished  that  it  should  be  just  set  on  the  ground,  out  of  reverence  to  Him  whose  creature 
it  is”  {ibid.  116). 

“Next  to  fire  he  had  a peculiar  love  for  water,  wherein  is  figured  holy  penitence 
and  the  tribulation  with  which  the  soul’s  uncleanness  is  washed  away,  and  because 


CHAP.  XIX 


SAINT  FRANCIS 


455 


There  are  two  documents  which  are  both  (the  one  with 
much  reason  and  the  other  with  certainty)  ascribed  to 
Francis.  Utterly  different  as  they  are,  each  still  remains 
a clear  expression  of  his  spirit.  The  one  is  the  Lauds, 
commonly  called  the  Canticle  of  the  Brother  Sun,  and  the 
other  is  the  saint’s  last  Testament.  One  may  think  of  the 
Canticle  as  the  closing  stanza  of  a life  which  was  an  enacted 
poem : 

Most  High,  omnipotent,  good  Lord,  thine  is  the  praise,  the 
glory,  the  honour  and  every  benediction ; 

To  thee  alone,  Most  High,  these  do  belong,  and  no  man  is 
worthy  to  name  thee. 

Praised  be  thou,  my  Lord,  with  all  thy  creatures,  especially 
milord  Brother  Sun  that  dawns  and  lightens  us ; 

And  he,  beautiful  and  radiant  with  great  splendour,  signifies 
thee,  Most  High. 

Be  praised,  my  Lord,  for  Sister  Moon  and  the  stars  that  thou 
hast  made  bright  and  precious  and  beautiful. 

Be  praised,  my  Lord,  for  Brother  Wind,  and  for  the  air  and 


the  first  washing  of  the  soul  is  through  the  water  of  baptism.  So  when  he  washed 
his  hands  he  would  choose  a place  where  the  water  which  fell  would  not  be  trodden 
on.  Also  when  he  walked  over  rocks,  he  walked  with  trembling  and  reverence  for 
the  love  of  Him  who  is  called  the  ‘ Rock  ’ ; and  whenever  he  repeated  that  psalm,  * Thou 
hast  exalted  me  upon  a rock,’  he  would  say  with  great  reverence  and  devotion : ‘Under 
the  foot  of  the  rock  thou  hast  exalted  me.’  ” 

“He  directed  the  brother  who  cut  and  fetched  the  fire-wood  never  to  cut  a whole 
tree,  so  that  some  part  of  it  might  remain  untouched  for  the  love  of  Him  who  was 
willing  to  work  out  our  salvation  upon  the  wood  of  the  cross. 

“Likewise  he  told  the  brother  whb  made  the  garden,  not  to  devote  all  of  it 
to  vegetables,  but  to  have  some  part  for  flowering  plants,  which  in  their  seasons 
produce  Brother  Flowers  for  love  of  Him  who  is  called  the  ‘Flower  of  the  field 
and  the  Lily  of  the  valley.’  He  said  indeed  that  Brother  Gardener  always  ought 
to  make  a beautiful  patch  in  some  part  of  the  garden,  and  plant  it  with  all  sorts  of 
sweet-smelling  herbs  and  herbs  that  produce  beautiful  flowers,  so  that  in  their 
season  they  may  invite  men  seeing  them  to  praise  the  Lord.  For  every  creature 
cries  aloud,  ‘God  made  me  for  thy  sake,  O man.’  We  that  were  with  him  saw 
that  inwardly  and  outwardly  he  did  so  greatly  rejoice  in  all  created  things,  that 
touching  or  seeing  them  his  spirit  seemed  not  to  be  upon  the  earth,  but  in  heaven” 
{ibid.  1 13). 

“Above  all  things  lacking  reason  he  loved  the  sun  and  fire  most  affectionately, 
for  he  would  say : ‘ In  the  morning  when  the  sun  rises  every  man  ought  to  praise  God 
who  created  it  for  our  use,  because  by  day  our  eyes  are  illumined  by  it ; in  the  even- 
ing, when  night  comes,  every  man  ought  to  give  praise  on  account  of  Brother  Fire, 
because  by  it  our  eyes  are  illumined  by  night.  For  all  of  us  are  blind,  and  the  Lord 
through  those  two  brothers  lightens  our  eyes;  and  therefore  for  these,  and  for  other 
creatures  which  we  daily  use,  we  ought  to  praise  the  Creator.’  Which  indeed  he  did 
himself  up  to  the  day  of  his  death”  {ibid.  119). 


456 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


cloud  and  the  clear  sky  and  for  all  weathers  through  which  thou 
givest  sustenance  to  thy  creatures. 

Be  praised,  my  Lord,  for  Sister  Water,  that  is  very  useful  and 
humble  and  precious  and  chaste. 

Be  praised,  my  Lord,  for  Brother  Fire,  through  whom  thou  dost 
illumine  the  night,  and  comely  is  he  and  glad  and  bold  and  strong. 

Be  praised,  my  Lord,  for  Sister,  Our  Mother  Earth,  that  doth 
cherish  and  keep  us,  and  produces  various  fruits  with  coloured 
flowers  and  the  grass. 

Be  praised,  my  Lord,  for  those  who  forgive  for  love  of  thee, 
and  endure  sickness  and  tribulation ; blessed  are  they  who  endure 
in  peace ; for  by  thee,  Most  High,  shall  they  be  crowned. 

Be  praised,  my  Lord,  for  our  bodily  death,  from  which  no  living 
man  can  escape ; woe  unto  those  who  die  in  mortal  sin. 

Blessed  are  they  that  have  found  thy  most  holy  will,  for  the 
second  death  shall  do  them  no  hurt. 

Praise  and  bless  my  Lord,  and  render  thanks,  and  serve  Him 
with  great  humility.1 

The  self-expression  of  the  more  personal  parts  of  the 
Testament  supplement  these  utterances  : 

“Thus  the  Lord  gave  to  me,  Brother  Francis,  to  begin  to  do 
penance : because  while  I was  in  sins,  it  seemed  too  bitter  to  me 
to  see  lepers ; and  the  Lord  himself  led  me  among  them,  and  I did 
mercy  with  them.  And  departing  from  them,  that  which  seemed 
to  me  bitter,  was  turned  for  me  into  sweetness  of  soul  and  body. 
And  a little  afterwards  I went  out  of  the  world. 

“And  the  Lord  gave  me  such  faith  in  churches,  that  thus 
simply  I should  pray  and  say:  ‘We  adore  thee,  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  and  in  all  thy  churches  which  are  in  the  whole  world,  and 
we  bless  thee,  because  through  thy  holy  cross  thou  hast  redeemed 
the  world.’ 

“Afterwards  the  Lord  gave  and  gives  me  so  great  faith  in 
priests  who  live  after  the  model  of  the  holy  Roman  Church  ac- 
cording to  their  order,  that  if  they  should  persecute  me  I will  still 
turn  to  them.  And  if  I should  have  as  great  wisdom  as  Solomon 
had,  and  should  have  found  the  lowliest  secular  priests  in  the 
parishes  where  they  dwell,  I do  not  wish  to  preach  contrary  to 
their  wish.  And  them  and  all  others  I wish  to  fear  and 
honour  as  my  lords;  and  I do  not  wish  to  consider  sin  in  them, 
because  I see  the  Son  of  God  in  them  and  they  are  my  lords. 

1 Translated  from  the  text  as  given  in  E.  Monad’s  Crestomazia  italiana  dei  primi 
secoli.  Substantially  the  same  text  is  given  in  Spec,  per f.  120. 


CHAP.  XIX 


SAINT  FRANCIS 


457 


“ And  the  reason  I do  this  is  because  corporeally  I see  nothing 
in  this  world  of  that  most  high  Son  of  God  except  His  most  holy 
body  and  most  holy  blood,  which  they  receive  and  which  they 
alone  administer.  And  I wish  these  most  holy  mysteries  to  be 
honoured  above  all  and  revered,  and  to  be  placed  together  in 
precious  places.  Wherever  I shall  find  His  most  holy  names  and 
His  written  words  in  unfit  places,  I wish  to  collect  them,  and  I 
ask  that  they  be  collected  and  placed  in  a proper  place ; and  all 
theologians  and  those  who  administer  the  most  holy  divine  words, 
we  ought  to  honour  and  venerate,  as  those  who  administer  to  us 
spirit  and  life. 

“And  after  the  Lord  gave  me  brothers,  no  one  showed  me 
what  I ought  to  do,  but  the  Most  High  himself  revealed  to  me  that 
I ought  to  live  according  to  the  model  of  the  holy  Gospel.  And 
I in  a few  words  and  simply  had  this  written,  and  the  lord  Pope 
confirmed  it  to  me.  And  they  who  were  coming  to  receive  life,  all 
that  they  were  able  to  have  they  gave  to  the  poor ; and  they  were 
content  with  one  patched  cloak,  with  the  cord  and  breeches ; and 
we  did  not  wish  to  have  more.  We  who  were  of  the  clergy  said 
our  office  as  other  clergy;  the  lay  members  said  ‘Our  Father.’ 
And  willingly  we  remained  in  churches ; and  we  were  simple 
(■ idiotae ) and  subject  to  all.  And  I laboured  with  my  hands,  and 
I wish  to  labour;  and  I wish  all  other  brothers  to  labour.  Who 
do  not  know  how,  let  them  learn,  not  from  the  cupidity  of  receiv- 
ing the  price  of  labour,  but  on  account  of  the  example,  and  to 
repel  slothfulness.  And  when  the  price  of  labour  is  not  given  to 
us,  we  resort  to  the  table  of  the  Lord  by  seeking  alms  from  door  to 
door. 

“The  Lord  revealed  to  me  a salutation  that  we  should  say: 
The  Lord  give  thee  peace.” 

Francis’s  precepts  for  the  brothers  follow  here.  The  last 
paragraph  of  the  Will  is:  “And  whoever  shall  have  observed 
these  principles,  in  heaven  may  he  be  filled  with  the  benediction 
of  the  most  high  Father,  and  on  earth  may  he  be  filled  with  the 
benediction  of  His  beloved  Son,  with  the  most  holy  spirit  Para- 
clete, and  with  all  the  virtues  of  the  heavens  and  with  everything 
holy.  And  I,  Brother  Francis,  your  very  little  servant,  so  far 
as  I am  able,  confirm  to  you  within  and  without  that  most  holy 
benediction.” 


CHAPTER  XX 


MYSTIC  VISIONS  OF  ASCETIC  WOMEN 

Elizabeth  of  Schonau;  Hildegard  of  Bingen;  Mary  of 
Ognies;  Liutgard  of  Tongern;  Mechthild  of  Magdeburg 

We  pass  to  matters  of  a different  colour.  Thus  far,  besides 
Bernard  and  Francis,  matchless  examples  of  monastic  ideals, 
there  have  been  instances  of  contemplation  and  piety,  with 
much  emotion,  and  a sufficiency  of  experience  having  small 
part  in  reason ; also  hallucinations  and  fantastic  conduct,  as 
in  the  case  of  Romuald.  The  last  class  of  phenomena,  how- 
ever, have  not  been  prominent.  Now  for  a while  we  shall 
be  wrapt  in  visions,  rational,  imitative,  fashioned  with  in- 
tent and  plan;  or,  again,  directly  experienced,  passionate, 
hallucinative.  They  will  range  from  those  climaxes  of  the 
constructive  or  intuitive  imagination,1  which  are  of  the  whole 
man,  to  passionate  or  morbid  delusions  representing  but  a 
partial  and  passing  phase  of  the  subject’s  personality.  More- 
over, we  have  been  occupied  with  hermits  and  monks,  that 
is  to  say,  with  men.  The  present  chapter  has  to  do  with 
nuns;  who  are  more  prone  to  visions,  and  are  occasionally 
subject  to  those  passionate  hallucinations  which  are  prompted 
by  the  circumstance  that  the  Christian  God  was  incarnate  in 
the  likeness  of  a man. 

Besides  the  conclusions  which  the  mind  draws  from  the 
data  of  sense,  or  reaches  through  reflection,  there  are  other 
modes  of  conviction  whose  distinguishing  mark  is  their 
apparent  immediacy  and  spontaneity.  They  are  not  elicited 
from  antecedent  processes  of  thought,  as  inferences  or 
deductions;  rather  they  loom  upon  the  consciousness,  and 
are  experienced.  Yet  they  are  far  from  simple,  and  may 
contain  a multiplicity  of  submerged  reasonings,  and  bear 
relation  to  countless  previous  inferences.  They  are  usually 

1 The  mediaeval  term  apex  mentis  is  not  inapt. 

458 


chap,  xx  VISIONS  OF  ASCETIC  WOMEN 


459 


connected  with  emotion  or  neural  excitement,  and  may  even 
take  the  guise  of  sense-manifestations.  Through  such  con- 
victions, religious  minds  are  assured  of  God  and  the  soul’s 
communion  with  Him.1  While  not  issuing  from  argument, 
this  assurance  may  be  informed  with  reason  and  involve 
the  total  sum  of  conclusions  which  the  reasoner  has  drawn 
from  life. 

In  devout  mediaeval  circles,  the  consciousness  of  com- 
munion with  God,  with  the  Virgin,  with  angels  and  saints, 
and  with  the  devil,  often  took  on  the  semblance  of  sense- 
perception.  The  senses  seemed  to  be  experiencing : stenches 
of  hell,  odours  of  heaven,  might  be  smelled,  or  a taste  infect 
the  mouth ; the  divine  or  angelic  touch  was  felt,  or  the  pain 
of  blows ; most  frequently  voices  were  heard,  and  forms  were 
seen  in  a vision.  In  these  apparent  testimonies  of  sight  and 
hearing,  the  entire  spiritual  nature  of  the  man  or  woman 
might  set  the  vision,  dramatize  it  with  his  or  her  desires  and 
aversions,  and  complete  it  from  the  store  of  knowledge  at 
command. 

The  visions  of  an  eleventh-century  monk  named  Othloh 
have  been  observed  at  some  length.2  Intimate  and 
trying,  they  were  also,  so  to  speak,  in  and  of  the  whole 
man : his  tastes,  his  solicitudes,  his  acquired  knowledge 
and  ways  of  reasoning,  joined  in  these  vivid  experiences 
of  God’s  truth  and  the  devil’s  onslaughts.  One  may  be 
mindful  of  Othloh  in  turning  to  the  more  impersonal  visions 
of  certain  German  nuns,  which  likewise  issued  from  the 
entire  nature  and  intellectual  equipment  of  these  women.3 

On  the  Rhine,  fifteen  miles  north-east  of  Bingen,  lies  the 
village  of  Schonau,  where  in  the  twelfth  century  flourished  a 

1 Assurance  of  the  soul’s  communion,  and  even  union,  with  God  is  the  chief 
element  of  what  is  termed  mysticism,  which  will  be  discussed  briefly  in  connection 
with  scholastic  philosophy,  post,  Chapter  XXXVII.  n.  In  the  twelfth  and  thir- 
teenth centuries  those  who  experienced  the  divine  through  visions,  ecstasies, 
and  rapt  contemplation,  were  not  as  analytically  and  autobiographically  self- 
conscious  as  later  mystics.  Yet  St.  Theresa’s  (sixteenth  century)  mystical 
analysis  of  self  and  God  (for  which  see  H.  Delacroix,  Etudes  d’histoire  et  de  psycho- 
logic du  mysticisme,  Paris,  1908)  might  be  applied  to  the  experiences  of  St.  Elizabeth 
of  Schonau  or  St.  Hildegard  of  Bingen. 

2 Ante,  Chapter  XIII.  it. 

3 Neither  Othloh’s  visions,  nor  those  to  be  recounted,  were  narratives  of 
voyages  to  the  other  world.  The  name  of  these  is  legion.  They  begin  in  Bede’s  Ecclesi- 
astical History,  and  continue  through  the  Middle  Ages — until  they  reach  their  apotheosis 
in  the  Divina  Commedia.  See  post,  Chapter  XLIV. 


460 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


Benedictine  monastery,  and  near  it  a cloister  for  nuns.  At 
the  latter  a girl  of  twelve  named  Elizabeth  was  received  in 
the  year  1141.  She  lived  there  as  nun,  and  finally  as  abbess, 
till  her  death  in  1165.  Like  many  other  lofty  souls  dwelling 
in  the  ideal,  she  was  a stern  censor  of  the  evils  in  the  world 
and  in  the  Church.  The  bodily  infirmities  from  which  she 
was  never  free,  were  aggravated  by  austerities,  and  usually 
became  most  painful  just  before  the  trances  that  brought  her 
visions.  Masses  and  penances,  prayer  and  meditation,  made 
her  manner  of  approach  to  these  direct  disclosures  of  eternity, 
wherein  the  whole  contents  of  her  faith  and  her  reflection 
were  unrolled.  Frequently  she  beheld  the  Saints  in  the 
nights  following  their  festivals ; her  larger  visions  were 
moulded  by  the  Apocalypse.  These  experiences  were 
usually  beatific,  though  sometimes  she  suffered  insult  from 
malignant  shapes.  What  humility  bade  her  conceal,  the 
importunities  of  admirers  compelled  her  to  disclose : and 
so  her  visions  have  been  preserved,  and  may  be  read  in 
the  Vita  written  by  her  brother  Eckbert,  Abbot  of 
Schonau.1  Here  is  an  example  of  how  the  saint  and  seeress 
spoke : 

“On  the  Sunday  night  following  the  festival  of  St.  James  (in 
the  year  1153),  drawn  from  the  body,  I was  borne  into  an  ecstasy 
(avocata  a cor  pore  rapta  sum  in  exstasim).  And  a great  flaming 
wheel  flared  in  the  heaven.  Then  it  disappeared,  and  I saw  a 
light  more  splendid  than  I was  accustomed  to  see ; and  thousands 
of  saints  stood  in  it,  forming  an  immense  circle;  in  front  were 
some  glorious  men,  having  palms  and  shining  crowns  and  the 
titles  of  their  martyrdoms  inscribed  upon  their  foreheads.  From 
these  titles,  as  well  as  from  their  pre-eminent  splendour,  I knew 
them  to  be  the  Apostles.  At  their  right  was  a great  company 
having  the  same  shining  titles;  and  behind  these  were  others, 
who  lacked  the  signs  of  martyrdom.  At  the  left  of  the  Apostles 
shone  the  holy  order  of  virgins,  also  adorned  with  the  signs  of 
martyrdom,  and  behind  them  another  splendid  band  of  maidens, 
some  crowned,  but  without  these  signs.  Still  back  of  these,  a 
company  of  venerable  women  in  white  completed  the  circle. 
Below  it  was  another  circle  of  great  brilliancy,  which  I knew  to  be 
of  the  holy  angels. 

“In  the  midst  of  all  was  a Glory  of  Supreme  Majesty,  and  its 

1 Migne,  Pat.  Lat.  195. 


chap,  xx  VISIONS  OF  ASCETIC  WOMEN 


461 


throne  was  encircled  by  a rainbow.  At  the  right  of  that  Majesty 
I saw  one  like  unto  the  Son  of  Man,  seated  in  glory ; at  the  left 
was  a radiant  sign  of  the  Cross.  ...  At  the  right  of  the  Son  of 
Man  sat  the  Queen  of  Kings  and  Angels  on  a starry  throne  cir- 
cumfused  with  immense  light.  At  the  left  of  the  Cross  four-and- 
twenty  honourable  men  sat  facing  it.  And  not  far  from  them  I 
saw  two  rams  sustaining  on  their  shoulders  a great  shining  wheel. 
The  morning  after  this,  at  tierce,  one  of  the  brothers  came  to  the 
window  of  my  cell,  and  I asked  that  the  mass  for  the  Holy  Trinity 
might  be  celebrated. 

“The  next  Sunday  I saw  the  same  vision,  and  more : for  I saw 
the  Lamb  of  God  standing  before  the  throne,  very  lovable,  and 
with  a gold  cross,  as  if  implanted  in  its  back.  And  I saw  the  four 
Evangelists  in  those  forms  which  Holy  Scripture  ascribes  to  them. 
They  were  at  the  right  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  their  faces  were 
turned  toward  her.” 

And  Elizabeth  saw  the  Virgin  arise  and  advance  from 
out  the  great  light  into  the  lower  ether,  followed  by  a multi- 
tude of  women  saints,  and  then  return  amid  great  praise. 

In  another  vision  she  saw  the  events  of  the  Saviour’s  last 
days  on  earth : saw  Him  riding  into  Jerusalem,  and  the 
multitude  throwing  down  branches ; saw  Him  washing  the 
disciples’  feet,  then  the  agony  in  the  garden,  the  betrayal, 
the  crowning  with  thorns,  the  spitting,  the  Lord  upon  the 
Cross,  and  the  Mother  of  God  full  of  grief ; she  saw  the  pierc- 
ing of  His  side,  the  dreadful  darkness, — all  as  in  Scripture, 
and  then  the  Scriptural  incidents  following  the  Resurrection. 
Upon  this,  her  vision  took  another  turn,  and  words  were  put 
in  her  mouth  to  chastise  the  people  for  their  sins. 

Apparently  more  original  was  Elizabeth’s  vision  of  the 
Paths  of  God  (the  Viae  Dei).  In  it  three  paths  went  straight 
up  a mountain  from  opposite  sides,  the  first  having  the 
hyacinthine  hue  of  the  deep  heaven ; the  second  green,  the 
third  purple.  At  the  top  of  the  mountain  was  a man,  clad 
with  a hyacinthine  tunic,  his  reins  bound  with  a white  girdle ; 
his  face  was  splendid  as  the  sun,  his  eyes  shone  as  stars,  and 
his  hair  was  white;  from  his  mouth  issued  a two-edged 
sword;  in  his  right  hand  he  held  a key  and  in  his  left  a 
sceptre.  Elizabeth  interprets : the  man  is  Christ ; and  the 
mountain  represents  the  loftiness  of  celestial  beatitude ; the 
light  at  the  top  is  the  brightness  of  eternal  life ; the  three 


462 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


paths  are  the  diverse  ways  in  which  the  elect  ascend.  The 
hyacin thine  path  is  that  of  the  vita  contemplativa ; the  green 
path  is  that  of  the  religious  vita  activa;  and  the  purple 
path  is  the  way  of  the  blessed  martyrs. 

There  were  also  other  paths  up  the  mountain,  one  beset 
with  brambles  until  half  way  up,  where  they  gave  place  to 
flowers.  This  is  the  way  of  married  folk,  who  pass  from 
brambles  to  flowers  when  they  abandon  the  pleasures  of  the 
flesh;  for  the  flowers  are  the  virtues  which  adorn  a life  of 
continence.  Still  other  ways  there  were,  for  prelates,  for 
widows,  and  for  solitaries.  And  Elizabeth  turns  her  visions 
into  texts,  and  preaches  vigorous  sermons,  denouncing  the 
vices  of  the  clergy  as  well  as  laity.  In  other  visions  she  had 
seen  prelates  and  monks  and  nuns  in  hell. 

The  visions  of  this  nun  appear  to  have  been  the  fruit 
of  the  constructive  imagination  working  upon  data  of 
the  mind.  Yet  she  is  said  to  have  seen  them  in  trances, 
a statement  explicitly  made  in  the  account  of  those  last 
days  when  life  had  almost  left  her  body.  Praying  devoutly 
in  the  middle  of  the  night  before  she  died,  she  seemed 
much  troubled;  then  she  passed  into  a trance  ( exstasim ). 
Returning  to  herself,  she  murmured  to  the  sister  who  held 
her  in  her  arms:  “I  know  not  how  it  is  with  me;  that 
light  which  I have  been  wont  to  see  in  the  heavens  is 
dividing.”  Again  she  passed  into  a trance,  and  afterwards, 
when  the  sisters  begged  her  to  disclose  what  she  had  seen, 
she  said  her  end  was  at  hand,  for  she  had  seen  holy  visions 
which,  many  years  before,  God’s  angel  had  told  her  she 
should  not  see  again  until  she  came  to  die.  On  being 
asked  whether  the  Lord  had  comforted  her,  she  answered, 
“Oh  ! what  excellent  comfort  have  I received !” 

A more  imposing  personality  than  Elizabeth  was 
Hildegard  of  Bingen,1  whose  career  extends  through  nearly 

1 The  works  of  St.  Hildegard  of  Bingen  are  published  in  vol.  197  of  Migne’s 
Pat.  Lat.  and  in  vol.  viii.  of  Pitra’s  Analecta  sacra,  under  the  title  Analecta  Sanctae 
Hildegardis  opera  Spicilegio  Solesmensi  parata  (1882).  Certain  supplementary 
passages  to  the  latter  volume  are  published  in  Analecta  Bollandiana,  i.  (Paris,  1882). 
These  publications  are  completed  by  F.  W.  E.  Roth’s  Lieder  und  die  unbekannte 
Sprache  der  h . Hildegardis  (Wiesbaden,  1880).  The  same  author  has  a valuable 
article  on  Hildegard  in  Zeitschrift  fiir  kirchliche  Wissenschaft,  etc.,  1888,  pp.  453-471. 
See  also  an  article  by  Battandier,  Revue  des  questions  historiques,  33  (1883),  pp. 


chap,  xx  VISIONS  OF  ASCETIC  WOMEN 


463 


the  whole  of  the  twelfth  century;  for  she  was  born  in  1099 
and  died  in  1179.  Her  parents  were  of  the  lesser  nobility, 
holding  lands  in  the  diocese  of  Mainz.  A certain  holy 
woman,  one  Jutta,  daughter  of  the  Count  of  Spanheim,  had 
secluded  herself  in  a solitary  cell  at  Disenberg — the  mount 
of  St.  Disibodus — near  a monastery  of  Benedictine  monks. 
Drawn  by  her  reputation,  Hildegard’s  parents  brought 
their  daughter  to  Jutta,  who  received  her  to  a life  like  her 
own.  The  ceremony,  which  took  place  in  the  presence  of 
a number  of  persons,  was  that  of  the  last  rites  of  the  dead, 
performed  with  funeral  torches.  Hildegard  was  buried 
to  the  world.  She  was  eight  years  old.  At  the  same 
time  a niece  of  Jutta  also  became  a recluse,  and  afterwards 
others  joined  them. 

On  the  death  of  Jutta  in  1136,  Hildegard  was  com- 
pelled to  take  the  office  of  Prioress.  But  when  the  fame 
of  the  dead  Jutta  began  to  draw  many  people  to  her  shrine, 
and  cause  a concourse  of  pilgrims,  Hildegard  decided  to  seek 
greater  quiet,  and  possibly  more  complete  independence; 
for  the  authority  of  the  new  abbot  at  the  monastery  may 
not  have  been  to  her  liking.  She  was  ever  a masterful 
woman,  better  fitted  to  command  than  to  obey.  So  in 
1147  she  and  her  nuns  moved  to  Bingen,  and  established 
themselves  permanently  near  the  tomb  of  St.  Rupert. 


395-425.  Other  literature  on  Hildegard  in  Chevalier’s  Repertoire  des  sources  historiques 
du  moyen  age , under  her  name. 

Her  two  most  interesting  works,  for  our  purposes  at  least,  are  the  Scivias 
(meaning  Scito  vias  Domini),  completed  in  1151  after  ten  years  of  labour,  and 
the  Liber  vitae  meritorum  per  simplicem  hominem  a vivente  luce  revelatorum  (Pitra, 
ox.  pp.  1-244),  begun  in  1159,  and  finished  some  five  years  later.  Extracts  from  these 
are  given  in  the  text.  Other  works  show  her  extraordinary  intellectual  range. 
Of  these  the  Liber  divinorum  operum  simplicis  hominis  (Migne  197,  col.  741-1038) 
is  a vision  of  the  mysteries  of  creation,  followed  by  a voluminous  commentary  upon 
the  world  and  all  therein,  including  natural  phenomena,  human  affairs,  the  nature 
of  man,  and  the  functions  of  his  mind  and  body.  It  closes  with  a discussion  of 
Antichrist  and  the  Last  Times.  The  work  was  begun  about  1164,  when  Hildegard 
finished  the  Liber  vitae  meritorum,  and  was  completed  after  seven  years  of  labour. 
She  also  wrote  a Commentary  on  the  Gospels,  and  sundry  lives  of  saints,  and  there 
is  ascribed  to  her  quite  a prodigious  work  upon  natural  history  and  the  virtues 
of  plants,  the  whole  entitled : Subtilitatum  diversarum  nalurarum  creaturarum 

liber  IX.  (Migne  197,  col.  1118-1351);  and  probably  she  composed  another  work 
on  medicine,  i.e.  the  unpublished  Liber  de  causis  et  curis  (see  Pitra,  o.c.,  prooemium, 
p.  xi.).  On  the  psychology  and  scientific  knowledge  of  Hildegard  see  the  essay  of 
Charles  Singer  in  Studies  in  the  History  and  Method  of  Science,  edited  by  him  (Oxford, 
1917). 


464 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


From  this  centre  the  energies  and  influence  of  Hildegard,  and 
rumours  of  her  visions,  soon  began  to  radiate.  Her  advice 
was  widely  sought,  and  often  given  unasked.  She  corre- 
sponded with  the  great  and  influential,  admonishing  dukes 
and  kings  and  emperors,  monks,  abbots,  and  popes.  Her 
epistolary  manner  sometimes  reminds  one  of  Bernard,  who 
was  himself  among  her  correspondents.  The  following 
letter  to  Frederick  Barbarossa  would  match  some  of  his : 

“O  King,  it  is  very  needful  that  thou  be  foreseeing  in  thy 
affairs.  For,  in  mystic  vision,  I see  thee  living,  small  and  in- 
sensate, beneath  the  Living  Eyes  (of  God).  Thou  hast  still  some 
time  to  reign  over  earthly  matters.  Therefore  beware  lest  the 
Supreme  King  cast  thee  down  for  the  blindness  of  thine  eyes, 
which  do  not  rightly  see  how  thou  holdest  the  rod  of  right  govern- 
ment in  thy  hand.  See  also  to  it  that  thou  art  such  that  the  grace 
of  God  may  not  be  lacking  in  thee.”  1 

This  is  the  whole  letter.  Hildegard’s  communications 
were  not  wont  to  stammer.  They  were  frequently  announced 
as  from  God,  and  began  with  the  words  “Lux  vivens  dicit.” 

Hildegard  was  a woman  of  intellectual  power.  She 
was  also  learned  in  theology,  and  versed  in  the  medicine 
and  scanty  natural  science  of  an  epoch  which  preceded  the 
reopening  of  the  great  volume  of  Aristotelian  knowledge 
in  the  thirteenth  century.  Yet  she  asserts  her  illiteracy, 
and  seems  always  to  have  employed  learned  monks  to 
help  her  express,  in  awkward  Latin,  the  thoughts  and 
flashing  words  which,  as  she  says,  were  given  her  in  visions. 
Her  many  gifts  of  grace,  if  not  her  learning,  impressed  con- 
temporaries, who  wrote  to  her  for  enlightenment  upon 
points  of  doctrine  and  biblical  interpretation ; they  would 
wait  patiently  until  she  should  be  enabled  to  answer,  since 
her  answers  were  not  in  the  power  of  her  own  reflection, 
but  had  to  be  seen  or  heard.  For  instance,  a monk 
named  Guibert,  who  afterwards  became  the  saint’s  amanu- 
ensis and  biographer,  propounded  thirty-eight  questions  of 
biblical  interpretation  on  behalf  of  the  monks  of  the  monas- 
tery of  Villars.  In  the  course  of  time  Hildegard  replies  : “In 
visione  animae  meae,  haec  verba  vidi  et  audivi,”  and  there- 

1 Analecta  Sanctae  Hildegardis  opera  Spicilegio  Solesmensi  parata,  p.  523;  cf. 
ibid.  p.  561 ; also  Ep.  27  of  Hildegard  in  Migne  197,  col.  186. 


chap,  xx  VISIONS  OF  ASCETIC  WOMEN 


465 


upon  she  gives  a text  from  Canticles  with  an  exposition  of  it, 
which  neither  she  nor  the  monks  regarded  quite  as  hers,  but 
as  divinely  revealed.  At  the  end  of  the  letter  she  says  that 
she,  insignificant  and  untaught  creature,  has  looked  to  the 
“true  light,”  and  through  the  grace  of  God  has  laboured 
upon  their  questions  and  has  completed  the  solutions  of 
fourteen  of  them.1 

In  some  of  Hildegard’s  voluminous  writings,  visions 
were  apparently  a form  of  composition ; again,  more  veritable 
visions,  deemed  by  her  and  by  her  friends  to  have  been 
divinely  given,  made  the  nucleus  of  the  work  at  length  pro- 
duced by  the  labour  of  her  mind.  Guibert  recognized  both 
elements,  the  God-given  visions  of  the  seeress  and  her  con- 
tributory labour.  In  letters  which  had  elicited  the  answers 
above  mentioned,  he  calls  her  speculative^  anima,  and  urges 
her  to  direct  her  talents  ( ingenium ) to  the  solution  of  the 
questions.  But  he  also  addresses  her  in  words  just  varied 
from  Gabriel’s  and  Elizabeth’s  to  the  Virgin  : 

“Hail — after  Mary — full  of  grace;  the  Lord  is  with  thee; 
blessed  art  thou  among  women,  and  blessed  is  the  word  of  thy 
mouth.  ...  In  the  character  of  thy  visions,  the  logic  of  thy 
expositions,  the  orthodoxy  of  thy  opinions,  the  Holy  Spirit  has 
marvellously  illuminated  thee,  and  revealed  to  babes  divers 
secrets  of  His  wisdom.”  2 

In  answer  to  more  personal  inquiries  from  the  deeply  in- 
terested Guibert,  Hildegard  (who  at  the  time  was  venerable 
in  years  and  in  repute  for  sanctity)  explains  how  she  saw  her 
visions,  and  how  her  knowledge  of  Scripture  came  to  her : 

“From  infancy,  even  to  the  present  time  when  I am  more 
than  seventy  years  old,  my  soul  has  always  beheld  this  visio*  and 
in  it  my  soul,  as  God  may  will,  soars  to  the  summit  of  the  firma- 
ment and  into  a different  air,  and  diffuses  itself  among  divers 
peoples,  however  remote  they  may  be.  Therefore  I perceive 
these  matters  in  my  soul,  as  if  I saw  them  through  dissolving  views 
of  clouds  and  other  objects.  I do  not  hear  them  with  my  outer 
ears,  nor  do  I perceive  them  by  the  cogitations  of  my  heart,  or  by 

1 These  questions  and  Hildegard’s  solutions  are  given  in  Migne  197,  col.  1038- 
1054,  and  the  letter  in  Pitra,  o.c.  399-400. 

2 Pitra,  ox.  394,  395. 

3 By  visio  as  used  here,  Hildegard  refers  to  the  general  undefined  light — the 
umbra  viventis  lucis,  in  which  she  saw  her  special  visions. 

VOL.  I 


2 H 


466 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


any  collaboration  of  my  five  senses ; but  only  in  my  soul,  my  eyes 
open,  and  not  sightless  as  in  a trance;  wide  awake,  whether  by 
day  or  night,  I see  these  things.  And  I am  perpetually  bound  by 
my  infirmities  and  with  pains  so  severe  as  to  threaten  death,  but 
hitherto  God  has  raised  me  up. 

“The  brightness  which  I see  is  not  limited  in  space,  and  is 
more  brilliant  than  the  luminous  air  around  the  sun,  nor  can  I 
estimate  its  height  or  length  or  breadth.  Its  name,  which  has 
been  given  me,  is  Shade  of  the  living  light  ( umbra  viventis  luminis). 
Just  as  sun,  moon,  or  stars  appear  reflected  in  the  water,  I see 
Scripture,  discourses,  virtues  and  human  actions  shining  in  it. 

“Whatever  I see  or  learn  in  this  vision,  I retain  in  my  memory ; 
and  as  I may  have  seen  or  heard  it,  I recall  it  to  mind,  and  at 
once  see,  hear,  know;  in  an  instant  I learn  whatever  I know. 
On  the  other  hand,  what  I do  not  see,  that  I do  not  know,  because 
I am  unlearned;  but  I have  had  some  simple  instruction  in 
letters.  I write  whatever  I see  and  hear  in  the  vision,  nor  do  I 
set  down  any  other  words,  but  tell  my  message  in  the  rude  Latin 
words  which  I read  in  the  vision.  For  I am  not  instructed  in  the 
vision  to  write  as  the  learned  write;  and  the  words  in  the  vision 
are  not  as  words  sounding  from  a human  mouth,  but  as  flashing 
flame  and  as  a cloud  moving  in  clear  air. 

“Nor  have  I been  able  to  perceive  the  form  of  this  brightness, 
just  as  I cannot  perfectly  see  the  disk  of  the  Sun.  In  that  bright- 
ness I sometimes  see  another  light,  for  which  the  name  Lux  vivens 
has  been  given  me.  When  and  how  I see  it  I cannot  tell;  but 
sometimes  when  I see  it,  all  sadness  and  pain  is  lifted  from  me, 
and  then  I have  the  ways  of  a simple  girl  and  not  those  of  an 
old  woman.”  1 

The  obscure  Latin  of  this  letter  gives  the  impression 
of  one  trying  to  put  in  words  what  was  unintelligible  to 
the  writer.  And  the  same  sense  of  struggle  with  the  in- 
adequacies of  speech  comes  from  the  prologue  of  a work 
written  many  years  before : 

“Lo,  in  the  forty- third  year  of  my  temporal  course,  while  I,  in 
fear  and  trembling,  was  intent  upon  the  celestial  vision,  I saw  a 
great  splendour  in  which  was  a voice  speaking  to  me  from  heaven : 
Frail  creature,  dust  of  the  dust,  speak  and  write  what  thou  seest 
and  hearest.  But  because  that  thou  art  timid  of  speech  and 
unskilled  in  writing,  speak  and  write  these  things  not  according  to 
human  utterance  nor  human  understanding  of  composition;  but 

1 Pitra,  o.c.  332. 


chap,  xx  VISIONS  OF  ASCETIC  WOMEN 


467 


as  thou  seest  and  hearest  in  the  heavens  above,  in  the  marvels  of 
God,  so  declare,  as  a hearer  sets  forth  the  words  of  his  preceptor, 
preserving  the  fashion  of  his  speech,  under  his  will,  his  guidance 
and  his  command.  Thus  thou,  O man  (homo),  tell  those  things 
which  thou  seest  and  hearest,  and  write,  not  according  to  thyself 
or  other  human  being,  but  according  to  the  will  of  Him  who  knows 
and  sees  and  disposes  all  things  in  the  secrets  of  His  mysteries. 

“And  again,  I heard  a voice  saying  to  me  from  heaven:  Tell 
these  marvels  and  write  them,  taught  in  this  way,  and  say:  It 
happened  in  the  year  one  thousand  one  hundred  and  forty-one  of 
the  incarnation  of  Jesus  Christ  the  Son  of  God,  when  I was  forty- 
two  years  old,  that  a flashing  fire  of  light  from  the  clear  sky  trans- 
fused my  brain,  my  heart,  and  my  whole  breast  as  with  flame ; 
yet  it  did  not  burn  but  only  warmed  me,  as  the  sun  warms  an 
object  upon  which  it  sheds  its  rays.  And  suddenly  I had  in- 
telligence of  the  full  meaning  of  the  Psalter,  the  Gospel,  and 
the  other  books  of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments,  although  I did 
not  have  the  exact  interpretation  of  the  words  of  their  text,  nor 
the  division  of  syllables  nor  knowledge  of  cases  and  moods.” 

The  writer  continues  with  the  statement : 

“The  vision  which  I saw,  I did  not  perceive  in  dreams  or 
sleeping,  nor  in  delirium,  nor  with  the  corporeal  ears  and  eyes  of 
the  outer  man ; but  watchful  and  intent  in  mind  I received  them 
according  to  the  will  of  God.”  1 

Hildegard  spoke  as  truthfully  as  she  could  about  her 
visions  and  the  source  of  her  knowledge,  matters  hard  for 
her  to  put  in  words,  and  by  no  means  easy  for  others  to 
classify  in  categories  of  seeming  explanation.  Guibert  may 
have  read  the  work  in  question.  At  all  events,  his  interest- 
ing correspondence  with  her,  and  her  great  repute,  led  him 
to  come  to  see  for  himself  and  investigate  her  visions ; for 
he  realized  that  deceptions  were  common,  and  wished  to 
follow  the  advice  of  Scripture  to  prove  all  things.  So  he 
made  the  journey  to  Bingen,  and  stayed  four  days  with 
Hildegard.  This  was  in  1178,  about  a year  before  her 
death.  “So  far  as  was  possible  in  this  short  space  of  time, 

1 This  is  from  the  prologue  to  the  Scivias,  Pitra,  o.c.  50 3,  504  (Migne  197, 
483,  484).  Guibert  in  his  Vita  speaks  of  Hildegard  as  indocta  and  unable  to 
penetrate  the  meaning  of  Scripture  nisi  cum  vis  inter nae  aspiralionis  illuminans 
earn  juvaret  (Pitra,  o.c.  413).  Compare  Hildegard’s  prooemium  to  her  Life  of 
St.  Disibodus  (Pitra,  o.c.  357)  and  the  preface  to  her  Liber  divinorum  operum 
(Migne  197,  741,  742). 


468 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


I observed  her  attentively ; and  I could  not  perceive  in  her 
any  invention  or  untruth  or  hypocrisy,  or  indeed  anything 
that  could  offend  either  us  or  other  men  who  follow 
reason.”  1 

Springing  from  her  rapt  faith,  the  visions  of  this  seeress 
and  anima  speculativa  disclose  the  range  of  her  knowledge 
and  the  power  of  her  mind.  All  her  visions  were  allegories ; 
but  while  some  appear  as  sheer  spontaneous  visions,  in 
others  the  mind  of  Hildegard,  aware  of  the  intended 
allegorical  significance,  constructs  the  vision,  and  fashions  its 
details  to  suit  the  spiritual  meaning.  This  woman,  fit  sister 
to  her  contemporaries  Hugo  of  St.  Victor  and  Bernard  of 
Clairvaux,  was  ancestress  of  him  who  saw  his  Commedia 
both  as  fact  and  allegory,  and  with  intended  mind  laboured 
upon  that  inspiration  which  kept  him  lean  for  twenty  years. 

Let  us  now  follow  these  visions  for  ourselves,  and  begin 
with  the  Book  of  the  Rewards  of  Life  revealed  by  the  Living 
Light  through  a simple  person.2 

“When  I was  sixty  years  old,  I saw  the  strong  and  wonderful 
vision  wherein  I toiled  for  five  years.  And  I saw  a Man  of  such 
size  that  he  reached  from  the  summit  of  the  clouds  of  heaven  even 
to  the  Abyss.  From  his  shoulders  upward  he  was  above  the  clouds 
in  the  serenest  ether.  From  his  shoulders  down  to  his  hips  he  was 
in  a white  cloud ; from  his  hips  to  his  knees  he  was  in  the  air  of 
earth ; from  the  knees  to  the  calves  he  was  in  the  earth  ; and  from 
his  calves  to  the  soles  of  his  feet  he  was  in  the  waters  of  the  Abyss, 
so  that  he  stood  upon  the  Abyss.  And  he  turned  to  the  East. 
The  brightness  of  his  countenance  dazzled  me.  At  his  mouth 
was  a white  cloud  like  a trumpet,  which  was  full  of  all  sounds 
sounding  quickly.  When  he  blew  in  it,  it  sent  forth  three  winds, 
of  which  one  sustained  above  itself  a fiery  cloud,  and  one  a storm- 
cloud,  and  one  a cloud  of  light.  But  the  wind  with  the  fiery 
cloud  above  it  hovered  before  the  Man’s  face,  while  the  two 
others  descended  to  his  breast  and  blew  there. 

“And  in  the  fiery  cloud  there  was  a living  fiery  multitude 
all  one  in  will  and  life.  Before  them  was  spread  a tablet  covered 
with  quills  ( pennae ) which  flew  in  the  precepts  of  God.  And  when 
the  precepts  of  God  lifted  up  that  tablet  where  God’s  knowledge 
had  written  certain  of  its  secrets,  this  multitude  with  one  impulse 
gazed  on  it.  And  as  they  saw  the  writing,  God’s  virtue  was  so 

1 Guibertus  to  Radilfus,  a monk  of  Villars  (Pitra,  ox.  577),  apparently  written 
in  1180.  2 Pitra,  ox.  pp.  1-244. 


chap,  xx  VISIONS  OF  ASCETIC  WOMEN  469 

bestowed  upon  them  that  as  a mighty  trumpet  they  gave  forth  in 
one  note  a music  manifold. 

“The  wind  having  the  storm-cloud  over  it,  spread,  with  that 
cloud,  from  the  south  to  the  west.  In  it  was  a multitude  of  the 
blessed,  who  possessed  the  spirit  of  life ; and  their  voice  was  as  the 
noise  of  many  waters  as  they  cried : We  have  our  habitations 
from  Him  who  made  this  wind,  and  when  shall  we  receive  them? 
But  the  multitude  that  was  in  the  fiery  cloud  chanted  responding : 
When  God  shall  grasp  His  trumpet,  lightning  and  thunder  and 
burning  fire  shall  He  send  upon  the  earth,  and  then  in  that  trumpet 
shall  ye  have  your  habitation. 

“And  the  wind  which  had  over  it  the  cloud  of  light  spread  with 
that  cloud  from  the  east  to  the  north.  But  masses  of  darkness 
and  thick  horror  coming  from  the  west,  extended  themselves  to  the 
light  cloud,  yet  could  not  pass  beyond  it.  In  that  darkness  was 
a countless  crowd  of  lost  souls ; and  these  swerved  in.  their 
course  whenever  they  heard  the  song  of  those  singing  in  the  storm- 
cloud,  as  if  they  shunned  their  company. 

“Then  I saw  coming  from  the  north,  a cloud  barren  of  delight, 
untouched  by  the  Sun’s  rays.  It  reached  towards  the  darkness 
aforesaid,  and  was  full  of  malignant  spirits,  who  go  about  devising 
snares  for  men.  And  I heard  the  old  serpent  saying,  ‘I  will 
prepare  my  men  of  might  and  will  make  war  upon  mine  enemies.’ 
And  he  spat  forth  among  men  a spume  of  things  impure,  and 
inflated  them  with  derision.  Then  he  blew  up  a foul  mist  which 
filled  the  whole  earth  as  with  black  smoke,  out  of  which  was  heard 
a groaning;  and  in  that  mist  I saw  the  images  of  every  sin.”  1 

These  images  now  speak  in  their  own  defence,  and  are 
answered  by  the  virtues,  speaking  from  the  storm-cloud, 
Heavenly  Love  replying  to  Love  of  this  World,  Discipline 
answering  Petulance,  Shame  answering  Ribaldry  (the  vice  of 
the  jongleours)  after  the  fashion  of  such  mediaeval  allegorical 
debates.  The  virtues  are  simply  voices ; but  the  monstrous 
or  bestial  image  of  each  sin  is  described : 

“Ignavia  (cowardly  sloth)  had  a human  head,  but  its  left  ear 
was  like  the  ear  of  a hare,  and  so  large  as  to  cover  the  head.  Its 
body  and  limbs  were  worm-like,  apparently  without  bones;  and 
it  spoke  trembling.”  2 

Hildegard  explains  the  general  features  of  her  vision : 
God  with  secret  inquisition,  reviewing  the  profound  disposal 

1 Pitra,  o.c.  pp.  8-10.  The  translation  is  condensed,  but  is  kept  close  to  the 
original.  2 Ibid.  p.  13. 


470 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


of  His  will,  made  three  ways  of  righteousness,  which  should 
advance  in  the  three  orders  of  the  blessed.  These  are  the 
three  winds  with  the  three  clouds  above  them.  The  first 
wind  bears  over  it  the  fiery  cloud,  which  is  the  glory  of 
angels  burning  with  love  of  God,  willing  only  what  He  wills ; 
the  wind  bearing  over  it  the  storm-cloud  represents  the  works 
of  men,  stormy  and  various,  done  in  straits  and  tribulations ; 
the  third  way  of  righteousness,  through  the  Incarnation  of 
our  Lord,  bears  above  it  a white  and  untouched  virginity,  as 
a cloud  of  light.1 

Then  Hildegard  sees  the  punishments  of  those  who  die 
in  their  sins  impenitent.  They  were  in  a pit  having  a 
bottom  of  burning  pitch,  out  of  which  crawled  fiery  worms ; 
and  sharp  nails  were  driven  about  in  that  pit  as  by  a wind. 

“I  saw  a well  deep  and  broad,  full  of  boiling  pitch  and  sulphur, 
and  around  it  were  wasps  and  scorpions,  who  scared  but  did  not 
injure  the  souls  of  those  therein ; which  were  the  souls  of  those 
who  had  slain  in  order  not  to  be  slain. 

“Near  a pond  of  clear  water  I saw  a great  fire.  In  this  some 
souls  were  burned  and  others  were  girdled  with  snakes,  and  others 
drew  in  and  again  exhaled  the  fire  like  a breath,  while  malignant 
spirits  cast  lighted  stones  at  them.  And  all  of  them  beheld  their 
punishments  reflected  in  the  water,  and  thereat  were  the  more 
afflicted.  These  were  the  souls  of  those  who  had  extinguished  the 
substance  of  the  human  form  within  them,  or  had  slain  their 
infants. 

“And  I saw  a great  swamp,  over  which  hung  a black  cloud  of 
smoke,  which  was  issuing  from  it.  And  in  the  swamp  there 
swarmed  a mass  of  little  worms.  Here  were  the  souls  of  those  who 
in  the  world  had  delighted  in  foolish  merriment  (: inepta  laetitia).2 

“And  I saw  a great  fire,  black,  red,  and  white,  and  in  it  horrible 
fiery  vipers  spitting  flame ; and  there  the  vipers  tortured  the  souls 
of  those  who  had  been  slaves  of  the  sin  of  uncharitableness 
(< acerbitas ). 

“And  I saw  a fire  burning  in  a blackness,  in  which  were 
dragons,  who  blew  up  the  fire  with  their  breath.  And  near  was 
an  icy  river ; and  the  dragons  passed  into  it  from  time  to  time  and 
disturbed  it.  And  a fiery  air  was  over  both  river  and  fire.  Here 
were  punished  the  souls  of  liars ; and  for  relief  from  the  heat,  they 
pass  into  the  river,  and  again,  for  the  cold,  they  return  to  the  fire, 


1 Pitra,  o.c.  p.  24. 


2 Ibid.  p.  51  sqq. 


chap,  xx  VISIONS  OF  ASCETIC  WOMEN 


47i 

and  the  dragons  torment  them.  But  the  fiery  air  afflicts  only 
those  who  have  sworn  falsely.1 

“I  saw  a hollow  mountain  full  of  fire  and  vipers,  with  a little 
opening ; and  near  it  a horrible  cold  place  crawling  with  scorpions. 
The  souls  of  those  guilty  of  envy  and  malice  suffer  here,  passing 
for  relief  from  one  place  of  torment  to  the  other. 

“And  I saw  a thickest  darkness,  in  which  the  souls  of  the 
disobedient  lay  on  a fiery  pavement  and  were  bitten  by  sharp- 
toothed  worms.  For  blind  were  they  in  life,  and  the  fiery  pave- 
ment is  for  their  wilful  disobedience,  and  the  worms  because  they 
disobeyed  their  prelates. 

“And  I beheld  at  great  height  in  the  air  a hail  of  ice  and  fire 
descending.  And  from  that  height,  the  souls  of  those  who  had 
broken  their  vows  of  chastity  were  falling,  and  then  as  by  a wind 
were  whirled  aloft  again  wrapped  in  a ligature  of  darkness,  so  that 
they  could  not  move ; and  the  hail  of  cold  and  fire  fell  upon  them. 

“And  I saw  demons  with  fiery  scourges  beating  hither  and 
thither,  through  fires  shaped  like  thorns  and  sharpened  flails, 
the  souls  of  those  who  on  earth  had  been  guilty  bestially.”  2 

After  the  vision  of  the  punishment,  Hildegard  states  the 
penance  which  would  have  averted  it,  and  usually  follows 
with  pious  discourse  and  quotations  from  Scripture.  Ap- 
parently she  would  have  the  punishments  seen  by  her  to  be 
taken  not  as  allegories,  but  literally  as  those  actually  in 
store  for  the  wicked. 

It  is  different  with  her  visions  of  Paradise.  In  Hildegard, 
as  in  Dante,  descriptions  of  heaven’s  blessedness  are  pale 
in  comparison  with  the  highly-coloured  happenings  in  hell. 
And  naturally,  since  Paradise  is  won  by  those  in  whom 
spirit  has  triumphed  over  carnality.  But  flesh  triumphed 
in  the  wicked  on  earth,  and  hell  is  of  the  flesh,  though  the 
spirit  also  be  agonized.  Hildegard  sees  many  blessed  folk 
in  Paradise,  but  all  is  much  the  same  with  them : they 
are  clad  in  splendid  clothes,  they  breathe  an  air  fragrant  with 
sweetest  flowers,  they  are  adorned  with  jewels,  and  many 
of  them  wear  crowns.  For  example,  she  sees  the  blessed 
virgins  standing  in  purest  light  and  limpid  splendour,  sur- 
passing that  of  the  sun.  They  are  clad  “quasi  candidissima 

1 Pitra,  o.c.  p.  92  sqq. 

2 Ibid.  p.  131  sqq.  Of  course,  one  at  once  thinks  of  the  punishments  in  Dante’s 
Inferno,  which  in  no  instance  are  identical  with  those  of  Hildegard,  and  yet  offer  com- 
mon elements.  Dante  is  not  known  to  have  read  the  work  of  Hildegard. 


472 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


veste  velut  auro  intexta,  et  quasi  pretiosissimis  lapidibus 
a pectore  usque  ad  pedes,  in  modum  dependentis  zonae, 
ornata  induebantur,  quae  etiam  maximum  odorem  velut 
aromatum  de  se  emittebat.  Sed  et  cingulis,  quasi  auro  et 
gemmis  ac  margaritis  supra  humanum  intellectum  ornatis, 
circumcingebantur.  ” 

This  seems  a description  of  heavenly  millinery.  Are 
these  virgins  rewarded  in  the  life  to  come  with  what  they 
spurned  in  this?  What  would  the  saint  have  thought  of 
virgins  had  she  seen  them  in  the  flesh  clad  in  the  whitest 
vestment  ornamented  with  interwoven  gold  and  gems,  falling 
in  alluring  folds  from  their  breasts  to  their  feet,  giving  out 
aromatic  odours,  and  belted  with  girdles  of  pearls  beyond 
human  conception?  Could  it  be  possible  that  the  woman 
surviving  in  the  nun  took  delight  in  contemplating  the 
blissful  things  forbidden  here  below?  However  this 
may  be,  the  quasi-s  and  velut-s  suggest  the  symbolical 
character  of  these  marvels.  This  indication  becomes  stronger 
as  Hildegard,  in  language  wavering  between  the  literal 
and  the  symbolical,  explains  the  appropriateness  of  orna- 
ments and  perfumes  as  rewards  for  the  virtues  shown 
by  saints  on  earth.  At  last  all  is  made  clear : the  Lux 
vivens  declares  that  these  ornaments  are  spiritual  and  eternal ; 
gold  and  gems,  which  are  of  the  dust,  are  not  for  the  eternal 
life  of  celestial  beings ; but  the  elect  are  spiritually  adorned 
by  their  righteous  works  as  people  are  bodily  adorned  with 
costly  ornaments.  So  one  gains  the  lesson  that  the  bliss  of 
heaven  can  only  be  shown  in  allegories,  since  it  surpasses 
the  understanding  of  men  while  held  in  mortal  flesh.1 

These  visions  from  Hildegard’s  Book  of  the  Rewards  of 

1 Pitra,  o.c.  pp.  230-240.  I am  not  clear  as  to  Hildegard’s  ideas  of  Purgatory, 
for  which  she  seems  to  have  no  separate  region.  In  the  case  of  sinners  who  have 
begun,  but  not  completed,  their  penances  on  earth,  the  punishments  described 
work  purgationem,  and  the  souls  are  loosed  {ibid.  p.  42).  In  Part  III.  of  the  work 
we  are  considering,  the  paragraphs  describing  the  punishments  are  entitled  De 
superbiae,  invidiae,  inobedientiae,  infidelitatis,  etc.,  poenis  purgatoriis  {ibid.  p. 
130).  But  each  paragraph  is  followed  by  one  entitled  De  poenitentia  superbiae, 
etc.,  and  the  poenitentia  referred  to  is  worked  out  with  penance  in  this  life.  Con- 
sequently it  is  not  quite  clear  that  the  word  purgatoriis  attached  to  poenis  signifies 
temporary  punishment  to  be  followed  by  release. 

In  a vision  of  the  Last  Times  {ibid.  p.  225)  Hildegard  sees  “black  burning  dark- 
ness,” in  which  was  gehenna,  containing  every  kind  of  horrible  punishment.  She 
did  not  then  see  gehenna  itself,  because  of  the  darkness  surrounding  it;  but  heard 
the  frightful  cries.  Cf.  Aeneid,  vi.  548  sqq. 


chap,  xx  VISIONS  OF  ASCETIC  WOMEN 


473 


Life  may  be  supplemented  by  one  or  two  selected  from  the 
curious  and  lengthy  work  which  she  named  Scivias , signify- 
ing Scito  vias  domini  (know  the  ways  of  the  Lord).  In 
this  work,  on  which  she  laboured  for  nine  years,  the  seeress 
shows  forth  the  Church,  in  images  seen  in  visions,  and  the 
whole  dogmatic  scheme  of  Christian  polity.  The  allegories 
form  the  texts  of  expository  sermons.  For  example, 
the  first  vision  in  the  first  Book  is  of  an  iron-coloured 
mountain,  which  is  at  once  explained  as  an  image  of  the 
stability  of  God’s  eternal  kingdom.  The  third  vision  is  of 
a fiery,  egg-shaped  object,  very  complicated  in  construction, 
and  devised  to  illustrate  the  truth  that  things  visible  and 
temporal  shadow  forth  the  invisible  and  eternal,  in  the  polity 
of  God.1  In  the  fourth  vision,  globes  of  fire  are  seen  to 
enter  the  human  form  at  birth,  and  are  then  attacked  by 
many  whirlwinds  rushing  in  upon  them.  This  is  an  allegory 
of  human  souls  and  their  temptations,  and  forms  the  text 
for  a long  discourse  on  the  nature  of  the  soul. 

The  fifth  vision  is  of  the  Synagogue,  the  Mater  incarna- 
tionis  Filii  Dei: 

“Then  I saw  as  it  were  the  image  of  a woman,  pale  from  the  top 
to  the  navel,  and  black  from  the  navel  to  the  feet,  and  its  feet  were 
blood-colour,  and  had  about  them  a very  white  cloud.  This  image 
lacked  eyes,  and  kept  its  hands  under  its  arm-pits.  It  stood  by 
the  Altar  that  is  before  the  eyes  of  God,  but  did  not  touch  it.” 

The  pale  upper  part  of  this  image  represents  the  pre- 
science of  the  patriarchs  and  prophets,  who  had  not  the 
strong  light  of  the  Gospel ; the  black  lower  portion  represents 
Israel’s  later  backslidings ; and  the  bloody  feet  surrounded 
by  a white  cloud,  the  slaying  of  Christ,  and  the  Church 
arising  from  that  consummation.  The  image  is  sightless — 
blind  to  Christ — and  stands  before  His  altar,  but  will  have 
none  of  it ; and  its  slothful  hands  keep  from  the  work  of 
righteousness.2 

1 This  is  the  view  expounded  so  grandly  by  Hugo  of  St.  Victor  in  his  De  sacra- 
mentis,  post , Chapter  XXIX. 

2 Migne  197,  col.  433.  All  this  is  interesting  in  view  of  the  many  figures  of 
the  Church  and  Synagogue  carved  on  the  cathedrals,  most  of  them  later  than 
Hildegard’s  time.  The  “Synagogue”  of  sculpture  has  her  eyes  bound,  the 
sculpturesque  expression  of  eyelessness.  The  rest  of  Hildegard’s  symbolism  was 
not  followed  in  sculpture. 


474 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


The  sixth  vision  is  of  the  orders  of  celestial  spirits, 
and  harks  back  to  the  Celestial  Hierarchy  of  Dionysius  the 
Areopagite.  In  the  height  of  the  celestial  secrets  Hildegard 
sees  a shining  company  of  supernal  spirits  having  as  it  were 
wings  (j)ennas ) across  their  breasts,  and  bearing  before  them 
a face  like  the  human  countenance,  in  which  the  look  of 
man  was  mirrored.  These  are  angels  spreading  as  wings 
the  desires  of  their  profound  intelligence ; not  that  they  have 
wings,  like  birds;  but  they  quickly  do  the  will  of  God  in 
their  desires,  as  a man  flees  quickly  in  his  thoughts.1  They 
manifest  the  beauty  of  rationality  through  their  faces, 
wherein  God  scrutinizes  the  works  of  men.  For  these  angels 
see  to  the  accomplishment  of  the  will  of  God  in  men ; and 
then  in  themselves  they  show  the  actions  of  men. 

Another  celestial  company  was  seen,  also  having  as  it 
were  wings  over  their  breasts,  and  bearing  before  them  a 
face  like  the  human  countenance  in  which  the  image  of  the 
Son  of  Man  shone  as  in  a mirror.  These  are  archangels 
contemplating  the  will  of  God  in  the  desires  of  their  own 
intelligences,  and  displaying  the  grace  of  rationality;  they 
glorify  the  incarnate  Word  by  figuring  in  their  attributes  the 
mysteries  of  the  Incarnation.  This  vision,  symbolizing  the 
angelic  intelligence,  is  consciously  and  rationally  constructed. 

Perhaps  the  same  may  be  said  of  the  second  vision  of 
the  second  Book  : 2 

“Then  I saw  a most  glorious  light  and  in  it  a human  form  of 
sapphire  hue,  all  aflame  with  a most  gentle  glowing  fire ; and  that 
glorious  light  was  infused  in  the  glowing  fire,  and  the  fire  was 
infused  in  the  glorious  light;  and  both  light  and  fire  transfused 
that  human  form — all  inter-existent  as  one  light,  one  virtue,  and 
one  power.’’ 

This  vision  of  the  Trinity,  in  which  the  glorious  light 
is  the  Father,  the  human  form  is  the  Son,  and  the  fire  is  the 
Holy  Spirit,  may  remind  the  reader  of  the  closing  “ vision” 
of  the  thirty-third  canto  of  Dante’s  Paradiso. 

The  third  Book  contains  manifold  visions  of  a four-sided 
edifice  set  upon  a mountain,  and  built  with  a double  ( biformis ) 
wall.  Here  an  infinitude  of  symbolic  detail  illustrates  the 

1 Migne  197,  col.  437  sqq.  Cf.  St.  Bernard,  Sermo  xix.  in  Cantica. 

2 Migne  197,  col.  449. 


chap,  xx  VISIONS  OF  ASCETIC  WOMEN 


475 


entire  Christian  Faith.  Observe  a part  of  the  symbolism  of 
the  twofold  wall : the  wall  is  double  (in  duabus  formis) . One 
of  its  formae  1 is  speculative  knowledge,  which  man  possesses 
through  careful  penetrating  investigation  of  the  speculation 
of  his  mind ; so  that  he  may  be  circumspect  in  all  his  ways. 
The  other  forma  of  the  wall  represents  the  homo  operans. 

“This  speculative  knowledge  shines  in  the  brightness  of  the 
light  of  day,  that  through  it  men  may  see  and  consider  their  acts. 
This  brightness  is  of  the  human  mind  carefully  looking  about 
itself ; and  this  glorious  knowledge  appears  as  a white  mist 
permeating  the  minds  of  the  peoples,  as  quickly  as  mist  is  scattered 
through  the  air ; it  is  light  as  the  light  of  day,  after  the  brightness 
of  that  most  glorious  work  which  God  benignly  works  in  men, 
to  wit,  that  they  shun  evil  and  do  the  good  which  shines  in  them 
as  the  light  of  day.  . . . This  knowledge  is  speculative,  for  it  Is 
like  a mirror  (speculum)  in  which  a man  sees  whether  his  face 
be  fair  or  blotched ; thus  this  knowledge  views  the  good  and  evil 
in  the  deed  done.”  2 

The  Scivias  closes  with  visions  of  the  Last  Judgment, 
splendid,  ordered,  tremendous,  and  rendered  audible  in 
hymns  rising  to  the  Virgin  and  to  Christ.  Apostles,  martyrs, 
saints  chant  the  refrains  of  victory  which  echo  the  past 
militancy  of  this  faithful  choir. 

The  visions  of  Elizabeth  of  Schonau  and  Hildegard  of 
Bingen  set  forth  universal  dogmas  and  convictions.  They 
show  the  action  of  the  imaginative  and  rational  faculties  and 
the  full  use  of  the  acquired  knowledge  possessed  by  the 
women  to  whom  they  came.  Such  visions  spring  from 
the  mind : quite  different  are  those  born  of  love.  Emotion 
dominates  the  latter ; their  motives  are  subjective ; they  are 
personal  experiences  having  no  clear  pertinency  to  the  lives 
of  others.  If  the  visions  of  Hildegard  were  object  lessons,  the 
blissful  ecstasies  of  Mary  of  Ognies  and  Liutgard  of  Tongern 
were  specifically  their  own,  very  nearly  as  the  intimate  con- 
solation of  a wife  from  a husband,  or  a lady  from  her 
faithful  knight,  would  be  that  woman’s  and  none  other’s. 

One  cannot  say  that  there  was  no  love  of  God  before 

1 Notice  the  supra-terrestrial  term,  which  can  hardly  be  translated  so  as  to  fit 
an  actual  wall. 

2 Migne  197,  col.  583.  Compare  this  vision  with  the  symbolic  interpretation 
of  the  cathedral  edifice,  post,  Chapter  XXX.,  1. 


476 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


Jesus  was  born ; still  less  that  men  had  not  conceived  of 
God  as  loving  them.  Nevertheless  in  Jesus’  words  God 
became  lovable  as  never  before,  and  God’s  love  of  man  was 
shown  anew,  and  was  anew  set  forth  as  the  perfect  pattern 
of  human  love.  In  Christ,  God  offered  the  sacrifice  which 
afore  He  had  demanded  of  Abraham:  for  “God  so  loved 
the  world  that  He  gave  His  only-begotten  Son.”  That  Son 
carried  out  the  Father’s  act:  “Greater  love  hath  no  man 
than  this,  that  a man  lay  down  his  life  for  his  friend.”  So 
men  learned  the  final  teaching:  “God  is  love.” 

A new  love  also  was  aroused  by  the  personality  of  Jesus. 
Was  this  the  love  of  God  or  love  of  man?  Rather,  it  was 
such  as  to  reveal  the  two  as  one.  In  Jesus’  teachings,  love 
of  God  and  love  of  man  might  not  be  severed : “As  ye  have 
done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these,  my  brethren,  ye  have 
done  it  unto  me.”  And  the  love  which  He  inspired  for  him- 
self was  at  once  a love  of  man  and  love  of  God.1  Think  of 
that  love,  new  in  the  world,  with  which,  more  than  with  her 
ointment  or  her  tears,  the  woman  who  had  been  a sinner 
bathed  the  Master’s  feet. 

This  woman  saw  the  Master  in  the  flesh ; but  the  love 
which  was  hers  was  born  again  in  those  who  never  looked 
upon  His  face.  Through  the  Middle  Ages  the  love  of 
Christ  with  which  saintly  women  were  possessed  was  as 
impulsive  as  this  sinner’s,  and  also  held  much  resembling 
human  passion.  Their  burning  faith  tended  to  melt  into 
ecstatic  experiences.  They  had  renounced  the  passionate 
love  of  man  in  order  to  devote  themselves  to  the  love  of 
Christ ; and  as  their  thoughts  leapt  toward  the  Bridegroom, 
the  Church’s  Spouse  and  Lord,  their  visions  sometimes  kept 
at  least  the  colour  of  the  love  for  knight  or  husband  which 
they  had  abjured.2 

1 Cf.  St.  Bernard’s  treatment  of  this  matter,  ante,  Chapter  XVIII. 

2 In  a Middle  High  German  Marienleben,  by  Bruder  Phillips  (13th  century), 
the  young  virgin  is  made  herself  to  say  to  God : 

“Du  bist  min  lieber  priutegam  (bridegroom), 

Dir  gib  ich  minen  magetuom  (maidenhood), 

Du  bist  min  vil  schoener  man. 

“Du  bist  min  vriedel  (lover)  und  min  vriunt  (ami) ; 

Ich  bin  von  diner  minne  entzundt.” 

Bobertag,  Erzahlende  Dichtungen  des  spateren  Mittelalters,  p.  46  (Deutsche  Nat. 
Litt.). 


chap,  xx  VISIONS  OF  ASCETIC  WOMEN 


477 


At  the  height  of  the  horrors  of  the  Albigensian  Crusade 
in  the  year  1212,  Fulco,  Bishop  of  Toulouse,  was  driven 
from  his  diocese  by  the  incensed  but  heretical  populace. 
He  travelled  northward  through  France,  seeking  aid  against 
these  foes  of  Christ,  and  came  to  the  diocese  of  Liege. 
There  he  observed  with  joy  the  faith  and  humility  of  those 
who  were  leading  a religious  life,  and  was  struck  by  the 
devotion  of  certain  saintly  women  whose  ardour  knew  no 
bounds.  It  was  all  very  different  from  Toulouse.  “Indeed 
I have  heard  you  declare  that  you  had  gone  out  of  Egypt — 
your  own  diocese — and  having  passed  through  the  desert, 
had  reached  the  promised  land — in  Liege.” 

Jacques  de  Vitry  is  speaking.  His  friend  the  bishop 
had  asked  him  to  write  of  these  holy  women,  who  brought 
such  glory  to  the  Church  in  troubled  times.  Jacques  was 
himself  a clever  Churchman,  zealous  of  the  Church’s 
interests  and  his  own.  He  afterwards  became  Bishop  and 
Cardinal  of  Tusculum ; and  as  papal  legate  consecrated  the 
holy  bones  of  her  whom  the  Church  had  decided  to  canonize, 
the  blessed  Mary  of  Ognies,  the  paragon  of  all  these  other 
women  who  rejoiced  the  ecclesiastical  hearts  of  himself  and 
Fulco.  Jacques  had  known  her  and  had  been  present  at 
her  pious  death ; and  also  had  witnessed  many  of  the  matters 
of  which  he  is  speaking  at  the  commencement  of  his  Vita  of 
this  saint.1 

Many  of  these  women,  continues  Jacques,  had  for  Christ 
spurned  carnal  joys,  and  for  Him  had  despised  the  riches  of 
this  world,  in  poverty  and  humility  clinging  to  their  heavenly 
Spouse. 

“You  saw,”  says  Jacques,  again  addressing  Fulco,  “some  of 
these  women  dissolved  with  such  a particular  and  marvellous  love 
toward  God  ( tam  speciali  et  mirabili  in  Deum  amoris  affectione 
resolutas ) that  they  languished  with  desire,  and  for  years  had 
rarely  been  able  to  rise  from  their  cots.  They  had  no  other 
infirmity,  save  that  their  souls  were  melted  with  desire  of  Him, 
and,  sweetly  resting  with  the  Lord,  as  they  were  comforted  in 
spirit  they  were  weakened  in  body.  They  cried  in  their  hearts, 

1 Vita  B.  Mariae  Ogniacensis,  per  Jacobum  de  Vitreaco,  Bollandi,  Acta  sanctorum 
t.  21  (June  t.  iv.  pp.  636-666).  Jacques  had  good  reason  to  canonize  her  bones,  since 
one  of  them,  in  his  saddle-bags,  had  saved  his  mule  from  drowning  while  crossing  a 
river  in  Tuscany. 


478 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


though  from  modesty  their  lips  dissimulated:  “Fulcite  me 

floribus,  stipate  me  malis,  quia  amore  langueo.”  1 The  cheeks 
of  one  were  seen  to  waste  away,  while  her  soul  was  melted  with 
the  greatness  of  her  love.  Another’s  flow  of  tears  had  made 
visible  furrows  down  her  face.  Others  were  drawn  with  such  in- 
toxication of  spirit  that  in  sacred  silence  they  would  remain  quiet 
a whole  day,  ‘while  the  King  was  on  His  couch’  ( i.e . at  meat),2 
with  no  sense  or  feeling  for  things  without  them,  so  that  they  could 
not  be  roused  by  clamour  or  feel  a blow.  I saw  another  whom 
for  thirty  years  her  Spouse  had  so  zealously  guarded  in  her  cell, 
that  she  could  not  leave  it  herself,  nor  could  the  hands  of  others 
drag  her  out.  I saw  another  who  sometimes  was  seized  with 
ecstasy  five-and- twenty  times  a day,  in  which  state  she  was 
motionless,  and  on  returning  to  herself  was  so  enraptured  that 
she  could  not  keep  from  displaying  her  inner  joy  with  movements 
of  the  body,  like  David  leaping  before  the  Ark.  And  I saw  still 
another  who  after  she  had  lain  for  some  time  dead,  before  burial 
was  permitted  by  the  Lord  to  return  to  the  flesh,  that  she  might  on 
earth  do  purgatorial  penance;  and  long  was  she  thus  afflicted 
of  the  Lord,  sometimes  rolling  herself  in  the  fire,  and  in  the  winter 
standing  in  frozen  water/’ 3 

But  what  need  to  say  more  of  these,  as  all  their  graces 
are  found  in  one  precious  and  pre-excellent  pearl — and 
Jacques  proceeds  to  tell  the  life  of  Mary  of  Ognies.  She 
was  born  in  a village  near  Namur  in  Belgium,  about  the 
year  1177.  She  never  took  part  in  games  or  foolishness 
with  other  girls ; but  kept  her  soul  free  from  vanity. 
Married  at  fourteen  to  a young  man,  she  burned  the  more 
to  afflict  her  body,  passing  the  nights  in  austerities  and 
prayer.  Her  husband  soon  was  willing  to  dwell  with  her  in 
continence,  himself  sustaining  her  in  her  holy  life,  and  giving 
his  goods  to  the  poor  for  Christ’s  sake. 

1 Cant.  ii.  5.  The  translation  in  the  English  Revised  Version  is:  “Stay. me 
with  cakes  of  raisins,  comfort  me  with  apples;  for  I am  sick  of  love.”  The  phrases 
of  Canticles,  always  in  the  words  of  the  Latin  Vulgate,  come  continually  into  the  minds 
of  these  ecstatic  women  and  their  biographers.  The  sonorous  language  of  the  Vul- 
gate is  not  always  close  to  the  meaning  of  the  Hebrew.  But  it  was  the  Vulgate  and 
not  the  Hebrew  that  formed  the  mediaeval  Bible,  and  its  language  should  be  observed 
in  discussing  mediaeval  applications  of  Scripture. 

2 “Dum  esset  Rex  in  accubitu  suo,”  Cant.  i.  11,  in  Vulgate;  Cant.  i.  12,  in  the 
English  version,  which  renders  it : “While  the  King  sitteth  at  His  table.” 

3 Vita  B.  Mariae,  etc.,  par.  2-8.  Since  we  are  seeing  these  mediaeval  religious 
phenomena  as  they  impressed  contemporaries,  it  would  be  irrelevant  to  subject 
them  to  the  analysis  which  pathological  psychology  applies  to  not  dissimilar 
phenomena. 


chap,  xx  VISIONS  OF  ASCETIC  WOMEN 


479 


There  was  nothing  more  marvellous  with  Mary  than  her 
gift  of  tears,  as  her  soul  dwelt  in  the  passion  of  her  Lord. 
Her  tears — so  says  her  biographer — wetted  the  pavement 
of  the  Church  or  the  cloth  of  the  altar.  Her  life  was  one  of 
body-destroying  austerities : she  went  barefoot  in  the  ice  of 
the  winter;  often  she  took  no  food  through  the  day,  and 
then  watched  out  the  night  in  prayer.  Her  body  was 
afflicted  and  wasted;  her  soul  was  comforted.  She  had 
frequent  visions,  the  gift  of  second  sight,  and  great  power 
over  devils.  Once  for  thirty-five  days  in  silent  trance  she 
rested  sweetly  with  the  Lord,  only  occasionally  uttering 
these  words:  “I  desire  the  body  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ” 
(i.e.  the  Eucharist) ; and  when  she  had  received  it,  she 
turned  again  to  silence.1  Always  she  sought  after  her  Lord : 
He  was  her  meditation,  and  example  in  speech  and  deed. 
She  died  in  the  year  1213,  at  the  age  of  thirty-six.  She 
was  called  Mary  of  Ognies,  from  the  name  of  the  town  where 
a church  was  dedicated  to  her,  and  where  her  relics  were 
laid  to  rest. 

Emotionally,  another  very  interesting  personality  was 
the  blessed  virgin,  Liutgard  of  Tongern,  a younger  con- 
temporary of  Mary  of  Ognies.  In  accordance  with  her 
heart’s  desire,  she  was  providentially  protected  from  the 
forceful  importunities  of  her  wooers,  and  became  a Bene- 
dictine nun.  After  some  years,  however,  seeking  a more 
strenuous  rule  of  life,  she  entered  the  Cistercian  convent  at 
Aquiria,  near  Cambray.2 

Liutgard’s  experiences  were  sense-realizations  of  her 
faith,  but  chiefly  of  her  love  of  Christ.  Sometimes  her 
senses  realized  the  imagery  of  the  Apocalypse ; as  when 
singing  in  Church  she  had  a vision  of  Christ  as  a white 
lamb.  The  lamb  rests  a foot  on  each  of  her  shoulders,  sets 
his  mouth  to  hers,  and  draws  out  sweetest  song.  Far  more 
frequently  she  realized  within  her  heart  the  burning  words 
of  Canticles.  Her  whole  being  yearned  continually  for  the 
Lord,  and  sought  no  other  comfort.  For  five  years  she 

1 It  is  reported  of  St.  Catherine  of  Siena  that  she  would  go  for  weeks  with  no 
other  food  than  the  Eucharist. 

2 1 am  drawing  from  her  Vita  by  her  contemporary,  Thomas  of  Cantimpre, 
Acta  SS.,  Bollandi,  t.  21  (t.  3 of  June),  p.  234  sqq. 


480 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


received  almost  daily  visits  from  the  Mother  of  Christ,  as 
well  as  from  the  Apostles  and  other  saints ; the  angels  were 
continually  with  her.  Yet  in  all  these  she  did  not  find 
perfect  rest  for  her  spirit,  till  she  found  the  Saint  of  saints, 
who  is  ineffably  sweeter  than  them  all,  even  as  He  is  their 
sanctifier.  Smitten  as  the  bride  in  Canticles,  she  is  wounded, 
she  languishes,  she  pants,  she  arises;  “in  the  streets”  she 
seeks  the  Saints  of  the  New  Dispensation,  and  through  “the 
broad  places”  the  Patriarchs  of  the  Old  Testament.  Little 
by  little  she  passes  by  them;  “because  He  is  not  far  from 
every  one  of  us,”  she  finds  Him  whom  her  soul  cherishes. 
She  finds,  she  holds  Him,  because  He  does  not  send  her 
away;  she  holds  Him  by  faith,  happy  in  the  seeking,  more 
happy  in  the  holding  fast.1 

There  are  three  couches  in  Canticles : 2 the  first  signifies 
the  soul’s  state  of  penitence  ; the  second  its  state  of  warfare ; 
the  third  the  state  of  those  made  perfect  in  the  vita 
contemplativa.  On  the  first  couch  the  soul  is  wounded,  on 
the  second  it  is  wearied,  on  the  third  it  is  made  glad.  The 
saintly  Liutgard  sought  her  Beloved  perfectly  on  the  couch 
of  penitence,  and  watered  it  with  her  tears,  although  she 
never  had  been  stung  by  mortal  sin.  On  the  second  couch 
she  sought  her  Beloved,  battling  against  the  flesh  with 
fasting  and  endeavour ; with  poverty  and  humility  she  over- 
came the  world,  and  cast  down  the  devil  with  prayer  and 
remedial  tears.  On  the  third  couch,  which  is  the  couch  of 
quiet,  she  perfectly  sought  her  Beloved,  since  she  did  not 
lean  upon  the  angels  or  saints,  but  through  contemplation 
rested  sweetly  only  upon  the  couch  of  the  Spouse.  This 
couch  is  called  flowery  ( Uoridus ) from  the  vernal  quality  of 
its  virtues;  and  it  is  called  “ours”  because  common  to 
husband  and  wife : in  it  she  may  say,  “My  Beloved  is  mine 
and  I am  His,”  and,  “I  am  my  Beloved’s,  and  His  desire  is 
towards  me.”  Why  not  say  that?  exclaims  the  biographer, 
quoting  the  lines : 

“Nescit  amor  Dominum;  non  novit  amor  dominari, 

Quamlibet  altus  amet,  non  amat  absque  pari.” 


1 Cf.  Canticles  iii.  2 ; Vita,  lib.  iii.  par.  42. 

2 Cant.  iii.  1,7;  i.  16. 


chap,  xx  VISIONS  OF  ASCETIC  WOMEN 


481 


Thenceforth  her  spirit  was  absorbed  in  God,  as  drops  of 
water  in  a jar  of  wine.  When  asked  how  she  was  wont  to 
see  the  visage  of  Christ  in  contemplation,  she  answered : 
“In  a moment  there  appears  to  me  a splendour  incon- 
ceivable, and  as  lightning  I see  the  ineffable  beauty  of  His 
glorification;  the  sight  of  which  I could  not  endure  in  this 
present  life,  did  it  not  instantly  pass  from  my  view.  A 
mental  splendour  remains,  and  when  I seek  in  that  what  I 
saw  for  an  instant,  I do  not  find  it.” 

A little  more  than  a year  before  her  death  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  appeared  to  her,  with  the  look  as  of  one  who 
applauds,  and  said:  “The  end  of  thy  labour  is  at  hand:  I 
do  not  wish  thee  longer  to  be  separated  from  me.  This 
year  I require  three  things  of  thee : first,  that  thou  shouldst 
render  thanks  for  all  thy  benefits  received ; secondly,  that 
thou  pour  thyself  out  in  prayer  to  the  Father  for  my 
sinners ; and  thirdly,  that,  without  any  other  solicitude,  thou 
burn  to  come  to  me,  panting  with  desire.”  1 

The  religious  yearning  which  with  Liutgard  touches 
sense-realization,  seems  transformed  completely  into  the 
latter  in  the  extraordinary  German  book  of  one  Sister 
Mechthild,  called  of  Magdeburg.2  The  authoress  probably 

1 Vita,  lib.  iii.  pars,  g,  n.  It  is  well  known  how  great  a love  of  her  Lord 

possessed  St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungary,  and  how  she  sent  her  children  away  from 
her,  that  she  might  not  be  distracted  from  loving  Him  alone.  The  vision  which 
came  to  her  upon  her  expulsion  from  the  Wartburg,  after  the  death  of  her  husband, 
King  Louis  of  Thuringia,  is  given  as  follows,  in  her  own  words,  according  to  the 
sworn  statement  of  her  waiting- woman : “I  saw  the  heaven  open,  and  that  sweet 

Jesus,  my  Lord,  bending  toward  me  and  consoling  me  in  my  tribulation;  and 
when  I saw  Him  I was  glad,  and  laughed ; but  when  He  turned  His  face,  as  if  to 
go  away,  I cried.  Pitying  me,  He  turned  His  serene  countenance  to  me  a second 
time,  saying:  ‘If  thou  wishest  to  be  with  me,  I wish  to  be  with  thee.’  I re- 
sponded : ‘ Thou,  Lord,  thou  dost  wish  to  be  with  me,  and  I wish  to  be  with  thee, 

and  I wish  never  to  separated  from  thee’  ” ( Libellus  de  dictis  quatuor  ancillarum, 
Mencken,  Scriptores  Rerum  Germ.  ii.  2020  A-C,  Leipzig,  1728).  The  German 
sermon  of  Hermann  von  Fritzlar  (cir.  1340)  tells  this  vision  in  nearly  the  same 
words,  putting,  however,  this  phrase  in  Elizabeth’s  mouth:  “Our  Lord  Jesus 

Christ  appeared  to  me,  and  when  He  turned  from  me,  I cried,  and  then  He  turned 
to  me,  and  I became  red  (blushed?),  and  before  I was  pale”  (Hildebrand,  Didaktik 
aus  der  Zeit  der  Kreuzziige,  p.  36,  Deutsche  Nat.  Lit.). 

2 Off enbar ungen  der  Schwester  Mechthild  von  Magdeburg  oder  das  flies sende  Licht 
der  Gottheit,  ed.  by  P.  G.  Morel,  Regensburg,  1869.  See  Preger,  Gesch.  der  deutschen 
Myslik,  i.  70,  91  sqq.  Preger  points  out  that  the  High-German  version  of  this  work, 
which  we  possess,  was  made  from  the  Low-German  original  in  the  year  1344.  Ex- 
tracts from  Mechthild’s  book  are  given  by  Vetter,  Lehrhafte  Literatur  des  14.  und  15. 
Jahrhunderts,  pp.  192-199 ; and  by  Hildebrand,  Didaktik  aus  der  Zeit  der  Kreuzziige, 
pp.  6-10  (Deutsche  Nat.  Lit.). 

VOL.  I 


I 


482 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


was  born  not  far  from  that  town  about  the  year  1212.  To 
judge  from  her  work,  she  belonged  to  a good  family  and 
was  acquainted  with  the  courtly  literature  of  the  time.  She 
speaks  of  her  loving  parents,  from  whom  she  tore  herself 
away  at  the  age  of  twenty-three,  and  entered  the  town  of 
Magdeburg,  there  to  begin  a life  of  rapt  religious  mendi- 
cancy, for  which  Francis  had  set  the  resistless  example. 
Sustained  by  love  for  her  Lord,  she  led  a despised  and 
homeless  life  of  hardship  and  austerity  for  thirty  years.  At 
length  bodily  infirmities  brought  her  to  rest  in  a Cistercian 
cloister  for  nuns  at  Helfta,  near  Eisleben,  where  ruled  a wise 
and  holy  abbess,  the  noble  Gertrude  of  Hackeborn.  Here 
Mechthild  remained  until  her  death  in  1277.  For  many 
years  it  had  been  her  custom  to  write  down  her  experiences 
of  the  divine  love  in  a book  which  she  called  The  Flowing 
Light  of  God , in  which  she  also  wrote  the  prophetic  denunci- 
ations, revealed  to  her  to  be  pronounced  before  men,  espe- 
cially in  the  presence  of  those  who  were  great  in  what  should 
be  God's  holy  Church.1 

“Frau  Minne  (Lady  Love),  you  have  taken  from  me  the 
world's  riches  and  honour,”  cries  Mechthild.2  Love’s  ecstasy 
came  upon  her  when  she  abandoned  the  world  and  cast 
herself  upon  God  alone.  Then  first  her  soul's  eyes  beheld 
the  beautiful  manhood  of  her  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  also  the 
Holy  Trinity,  her  own  guardian  angel,  and  the  devil  who 
tempted  her  through  the  vainglory  of  her  visions  and 
through  unchaste  desire.  She  defended  herself  with  the 
agony  of  our  Lord.  For  Mechthild,  hell  is  the  “city  whose 
name  is  eternal  hate.”  With  her  all  blessedness  is  love,  as 
her  book  will  now  disclose. 

Cries  the  Soul  to  Love  {Minne)  her  guardian:  “Thou 

hast  hunted  and  taken,  bound  and  wounded  me ; never  shall 
I be  healed.” 

Love  answers:  “It  was  my  pleasure  to  hunt  thee;  to 
take  thee  captive  was  my  desire ; to  bind  thee  was  my  joy. 
I drove  Almighty  God  from  His  throne  in  heaven,  and  took 
His  human  life  from  Him,  and  then  with  honour  gave  Him 

1 We  pass  over  these  portions  of  Mechthild’s  book  which  exemplify  the  close 
connection  between  ecstatic  contemplation  and  the  denunciation  of  evil  in  the 
world. 

2 Mechthild  constantly  uses  phrases  from  the  courtly  love  poetry  of  her  time. 


chap,  xx  VISIONS  OF  ASCETIC  WOMEN  483 

back  to  His  Father;  how  couldst  thou,  poor  worm,  save 
thyself  from  me!”1 

What  then  will  love’s  omnipotence  exact  from  this  poor 
Soul?  Merely  all.  Drawn  by  yearning,  the  Soul  comes 
flying,  like  an  eagle  toward  the  sun.  “See,  how  she  mounts 
to  us,  she  who  wounded  me” — it  is  the  Lord  that  is  speak- 
ing. “She  has  thrown  away  the  ashes  of  the  world,  over- 
come lust,  and  trodden  the  lion  of  pride  beneath  her  feet — 
thou  eager  huntress  of  love,  what  bringest  thou  to  me?” 
“Lord,  I bring  thee  my  treasure,  which  is  greater  than 
mountains,  wider  than  the  world,  deeper  than  the  sea,  higher 
than  the  clouds,  more  beautiful  than  the  sun,  more  manifold 
than  the  stars,  and  outweighs  the  riches  of  the  earth.” 

“Image  of  my  Divinity,  ennobled  by  my  manhood, 
adorned  by  my  Holy  Spirit,  how  is  thy  treasure  called?” 
“Lord,  it  is  called  my  heart’s  desire:  I have  withdrawn 
it  from  the  world,  withheld  it  from  myself,  forbidden  it  all 
creatures.  I can  carry  it  no  farther;  Lord,  where  shall  I 
lay  it?” 

“Thou  shalt  lay  thy  heart’s  desire  nowhere  else  than  in 
my  divine  heart  and  on  my  human  breast.  There  only  wilt 
thou  be  comforted  and  kissed  with  my  spirit.” 

Love  casts  out  fear  and  difference,  and  lifts  the  Soul 
to  equality  with  the  divine  Lover.  Through  the  passion 
of  love  the  Soul  may  pass  into  the  Beloved’s  being,  and 
become  one  with  Him:  “He,  thy  life,  died  from  love  for 

thy  sake ; now  love  Him  so  that  thou  mayest  long  to  die 
for  His  sake.  Then  shalt  thou  burn  for  evermore  un- 
quenched, like  a shining  spark  in  the  great  fire  of  the 
Living  Majesty.” 

These  are  passion’s  vision-flights.  But  God  himself 
points  out  the  way  by  which  the  Soul  that  loves  shall  come 
to  Him : she — the  Soul — shall  come,  surmounting  the  need 
of  penitence  and  penance,  surmounting  love  of  the  world, 
conflicts  with  the  devil,  carnal  appetite,  and  the  promptings 

1 Das  jliessende  Licht,  etc.,  i.  cap.  3.  Hildebrand,  o.c.  p.  6,  cites  this  apposite 
verse  from  the  thoughtful  and  knightly  Minnesinger,  Reimar  von  Zweter : 

“Got  herre  unuberwundenlich, 

Wie  uberwant  die  Minne  dich ! 

Getorste  ich,  so  spraech  ich : 

Si  wart  an  dir  so  sigerich.” 


484 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


of  her  own  will.  Thereupon,  exhausted,  she  shall  yearn 
resistlessly  for  that  beautiful  Youth  (Christ).  He  will  be 
moved  to  come  to  meet  her.  Now  her  guardians  (the 
Senses)  bid  her  attire  herself.  “Love,  whither  shall  I 
hence?”  she  cries.  The  Senses  make  answer:  “We  hear 

the  murmur;  the  Prince  will  come  to  meet  you  in  the  dew 
and  the  sweet-bird  song.  Courage,  Lady,  He  will  not  tarry.” 
The  Soul  clothes  herself  in  a garment  of  humility,  and 
over  it  draws  the  white  robe  of  chastity,  and  goes  into  the 
wood.  There  nightingales  sing  of  union  with  God,  and 
strains  of  divine  knowledge  meet  her  ears.  She  then  strives 
to  follow  in  festal  dance  (i.e.  to  imitate)  the  example  of 
the  prophets,  the  chaste  humility  of  the  Virgin,  the  virtues 
of  Jesus,  and  the  piety  of  His  saints.  Then  comes  the  Youth 
and  says:  “Maiden,  thou  hast  danced  holily,  even  as  my 

saints.” 

The  Soul  answers:  “I  cannot  dance  unless  thou  leadest. 
If  thou  wouldst  have  me  spring  aloft,  sing  thou  : and  I will 
spring — into  love,  and  from  love  to  knowledge,  and  from 
knowledge  to  ecstasy,  above  all  human  sense.” 

The  Youth  speaks  : “Maiden,  thy  dance  of  praise  is  well 
performed.  Since  now  thou  art  tired,  thou  shalt  have  thy 
will  with  the  Virgin’s  Son.  Come  to  the  brown  shades  at 
midday,  to  the  couch  of  love,  and  there  shalt  thou  cool 
thyself  with  Him.” 

Then  the  Soul  speaks  to  her  guardians,  the  Senses:  “I 
am  tired  with  the  dance ; leave  me,  for  I must  go  where  I 
may  cool  myself.”  The  Senses  bid  her  cool  herself  in  the 
tears  of  love  shed  by  St.  Mary  Magdalen. 

“Hush,  good  sirs:  ye  know  not  what  I mean.  Un- 
hindered, for  a little  I would  drink  the  unmixed  wine.” 

“Lady,  in  the  Virgin’s  chastity  the  great  love  is 
reached.” 

“That  may  be — with  me  it  is  not  the  highest.” 

“You,  Lady,  might  cool  yourself  in  martyr-blood.” 

“I  have  been  martyred  many  a day.” 

“In  the  counsel  of  Father  Confessors,  the  pure  live 
gladly.” 

“Good  is  their  counsel,  but  it  helps  not  here.” 

“Great  safety  would  you  find  in  the  Apostles’  wisdom.” 


CHAP.  XX 


VISIONS  OF  ASCETIC  WOMEN 


485 


“ Wisdom  I have  myself — to  choose  the  best.” 

“Lady,  bright  are  the  angels,  and  lovely  in  love’s  hue; 
to  cool  yourself,  be  lifted  up  with  them.” 

“The  bliss  of  angels  brings  me  love’s  woe,  unless  I see 
their  lord,  my  Bridegroom.” 

“Then  cool  you  in  the  hard,  holy  life  that  John  the 
Baptist  showed.” 

“I  have  tried  that  painful  toil;  my  love  passes  beyond 
that.” 

“Lady,  would  you  with  love  cool  yourself,  approach  the 
Child  in  the  Virgin’s  lap.” 

“That  is  a childish  love,  to  quiet  children  with.  I am  a 
full-grown  bride  and  will  have  my  Bridegroom.” 

“Lady,  there  we  should  be  smitten  blind.  The  God- 
head is  so  fiery  hot.  Heaven’s  glow  and  all  the  holy  lights 
flow  from  His  divine  breath  and  human  mouth  by  the 
counsel  of  the  Holy  Spirit.” 

But  the  Soul  feeling  its  nature  and  its  affinity  with  God, 
through  love,  makes  answer  boldly:  “The  fish  cannot 
drown  in  the  water,  nor  the  bird  sink  in  the  air,  nor  gold 
perish  in  the  flame,  where  it  gains  its  bright  clarity  and 
colour.  God  has  granted  to  all  creatures  to  follow  their 
natures;  how  can  I withstand  mine?  To  God  will  I go, 
who  is  my  Father  by  nature,  my  Brother  through  His  humility, 
my  Bridegroom  through  love,  and  I am  His  forever.”  1 Not 
long  after  this  the  Soul’s  rapture  bursts  forth  in  song : 

“Ich  sturbe  gern  von  minnen,  moehte  es  mir  geschehen, 

Denn  jenen  den  ich  minnen,  den  han  ich  gesehen 
Mit  minen  liehten  ougen  in  miner  sele  stehen.”  2 

Mechthild’s  book  is  heavy  with  passion — with  God’s 
passionate  love  for  the  Soul,  and  the  Soul’s  passionate 
response.  No  speech  between  lovers  could  outdo  the  con- 
verse between  them.  God  calls  the  Soul,  sweet  dove,  dear 
heart,  my  queen;  and  with  like  phrase  the  quivering  Soul 
responds  upward,  as  it  were,  to  the  great  countenance 
glowing  above  it.  Throughout,  there  is  passion  and  im- 
patient yearning — or  satisfaction.  The  pain  of  the  Soul 

1 Das  jliessende  Licht,  etc .,  i.  38-44. 

2 “I  would  gladly  die  of  love,  might  that  be  my  lot;  for  Him  whom  I love  I have 
seen  with  my  bright  eyes  standing  in  my  soul”  (ibid.  ii.  cap.  2). 


486 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


severed,  not  yet  a bride,  is  deeper  than  the  abyss,  bitterer 
than  the  world ; but  her  joy  shall  exceed  that  of  seraphs,  she, 
Bride  of  the  Trinity.1 

The  Soul  must  surrender  herself,  and  become  sheer 
desire  for  God.2  God’s  own  yearning  has  begotten  this 
desire.  As  glorious  prince,  as  knight,  as  emperor,  God 
comes ; also  in  other  forms  : 

“I  come  to  my  Beloved 
As  dew  upon  the  flowers.” 3 

For  each  other  are  these  lovers  wounded,  for  each  other 
these  lovers  bleed,  and  each  to  the  other  is  joy  unspeakable 
and  unforgettable.  From  the  wafer  of  the  holy  Eucharist, 
the  Lamb  looks  out  upon  me  “with  such  sweet  eyes  that  I 
never  can  forget.” 

“His  eyes  in  my  eyes ; His  heart  in  my  heart, 

His  soul  in  my  soul, 

Embraced  and  untroubled.”  4 

No  need  to  say  that  in  the  end  love  draws  the  Soul 
to  heaven’s  gate,  which  the  Lord  opens  to  her.  All  is 
marvellous ; but,  far  more,  all  is  love : the  Lord  kisses  her 
— what  else  than  love  can  the  soul  thereafter  know  or  feel.5 

Mechthild,  of  course,  is  what  is  called  a “mystic,”  and  a 
forerunner  indeed  of  many  another — Eckhart,  Suso,  Tauler 
— of  German  blood.  With  direct  and  utter  passion  she 
realizes  God’s  love ; also  she  feels  and  thinks  in  symbols, 
which,  with  her,  never  cease  to  be  the  things  they  literally 
are.  They  remain  flesh  and  blood,  while  also  signifying  the 
mysteries  of  God.  Jesus  was  a man,  Mechthild  a woman. 
Her  love  not  only  uses  lovers’  speech,  but  actually  holds 
affinity  with  a maid’s  love  for  her  betrothed.  If  it  is  the 
Soul’s  love  of  God,  it  is  also  the  woman’s  love  of  Him  who 
overhung  her  from  the  Cross. 

1 Cf.  ii.  22. 

*u.  4. 


2 See  i.  io;  ii.  23. 
6 iii.  1,  10. 


3 i.  13* 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  SPOTTED  ACTUALITY 

The  Testimony  oe  Invective  and  Satire;  Archbishop  Rigaud’s 
Register;  Engelbert  of  Cologne;  Popular  Credences 

The  preceding  sketches  of  monastic  qualities  and  person- 
alities illustrate  the  ideals  of  monasticism.  That  monastic 
practices  should  fall  away,  corruptions  enter,  and  when 
expelled  inevitably  return,  was  to  be  expected.  The  cause 
lay  in  those  qualities  of  human  nature  which  may  be  either 
power  or  frailty.  The  acquisitive,  self-seeking,  lusting 
qualities  of  men  lie  at  the  base  of  life,  and  may  be  essential 
to  achievement  and  advance.  Yet  a higher  interpretation  of 
values  will  set  the  spiritual  above  the  earthly,  and  beatify  the 
self-denial  through  which  man  ultimately  attains  his  highest 
self,  under  the  prompting  of  his  vision  of  the  divine.  The 
sight  of  this  far  goal  is  given  to  few  men  steadily,  and  the 
multitude,  whether  cowled  or  clad  in  fashions  of  the  world, 
pursue  more  immediate  desires. 

So  human  nature  saw  to  it  that  monasticism  should 
constantly  exhibit  frivolity  instead  of  earnestness,  gluttony 
instead  of  fasting,  avarice  instead  of  alms-giving,  anger  and 
malice  instead  of  charity  and  love,  lustfulness  instead  of 
chastity,  and,  instead  of  meekness,  pride  and  vain-glory. 
The  particular  forms  assumed  by  these  corruptions  depended 
on  the  conditions  of  mediaeval  life  and  the  position  in  it 
occupied  by  monks. 

It  has  already  been  said  that  the  standard  of  conduct  for 
the  secular  clergy  was  the  same  in  principle  as  that  for 
monks,  though  with  allowance  made  for  the  stress  of  a life  of 

487 


488 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


service  in  the  cure  of  souls.1  But  always  the  cloister  and  the 
hermitage  were  looked  upon  as  the  abiding-places  where  one 
stood  the  best  chance  to  save  one’s  soul : the  life  of  the  lay- 
man— merchant,  usurer,  knight — was  fraught  with  instant 
peril ; that  of  the  secular  clergy  was  also  perilous,  especially 
when  they  held  high  office.  Dread  of  ecclesiastical  pre- 
ferment might  be  well  founded;  the  reluctance  to  be  a 
bishop  was  often  real.  This  sentiment,  like  all  feelings  in 
the  Middle  Ages,  took  the  form  of  a story,  with  the  usual 
vision  to  certify  the  moral  of  the  tale : 

“It  is  told  of  a certain  prior  of  Clairvaux,  Geoffrey  by  name, 
that  when  he  had  been  elected  Bishop  of  Tournai,  and  Pope 
Eugene  as  well  as  the  blessed  Bernard,  his  own  abbot,  was  urging 
him  to  take  the  office,  he  cast  himself  down  at  the  feet  of  the 
blessed  Bernard  and  his  clergy,  and  lay  prone  in  the  form  of  a 
cross,  and  said:  ‘An  expelled  monk  I may  be,  if  you  drive  me 
out;  but  I will  never  be  a bishop/  At  a later  time,  as  this  same 
prior  lay  breathing  his  last,  a monk  who  loved  him  well  adjured 
him  in  the  name  of  God  to  bring  him  news  of  his  state  beyond  the 
grave,  if  God  would  permit  it.  Some  time  after,  as  the  monk  was 
praying  prostrate  before  the  altar,  his  friend  appeared  and  said 
that  it  was  he.  When  the  monk  asked  him  how  he  was  faring, 
‘Well,’  he  replied,  ‘by  the  grace  of  God.  Yet  verily  it  has  been 
revealed  to  me  by  the  blessed  Trinity,  that  had  I been  in  the 
number  of  bishops  I should  have  been  in  the  number  of  the  repro- 
bate and  damned.’  ” 2 

Through  the  Middle  Ages,  Church  dignities  everywhere 
were  secularized  through  the  vast  possessions  and  corre- 
sponding responsibilities  attaching  to  them.  The  clerical 
situation  varied  in  different  lands,  yet  with  a like  result. 
The  Italian  clergy  were  secularized  through  participation  in 
civic  and  papal  business,  the  German  through  their  estates 
and  principalities.  In  France  clerical  secularization  was 
most  typically  mediaeval,  because  there  the  functions  and 
fortunes  of  the  higher  clergy  were  most  inextricably  involved 

1 It  is  quite  true  that  in  the  earliest  Christian  times  the  marriage  of  priests  was 
recognized,  and  continued  to  be  at  least  connived  at  until,  say,  the  time  of  Hildebrand. 
Yet  the  best  thoughtfulness  and  piety  from  the  Patristic  period  onward  had  disap- 
proved of  priestly  marriages,  which  consequently  tended  to  sink  to  the  level  of  con- 
cubinage, until  they  were  absolutely  condemned  by  the  Church. 

2 Anecdotes,  etc.,  d’ Etienne  de  Bourbon,  ed.  by  Lecoy  de  la  Marche,  p.  249 
(Soc.  de  1’Histoire  de  France,  t.  185,  Paris,  1877).  This  story  refers  to  the  years 
1166-1171. 


CHAP.  XXI 


THE  SPOTTED  ACTUALITY 


489 


in  feudalism.  Monasteries  and  bishoprics  were  as  feudal 
fiefs : abbots  as  well  as  bishops  commonly  held  lands  from 
an  over-lord,  and  were  themselves  lords  of  their  sub-vassals 
who  held  lands  from  them.  To  the  former  they  owed  rent, 
or  aid,  or  service ; to  the  latter  they  owed  protection.  In 
either  case  they  might  have  to  go  or  send  their  men  to  war. 
They  also  managed  and  guarded  their  own  lands,  like  feudal 
nobles,  vi  et  armis.  When  the  estates  of  a monastery,  for 
example,  lay  in  different  places,  the  abbot  might  exercise 
authority  over  them  through  a local  potentate,  and  might 
also  have  such  a protector  ( vtdame , avoue,  advocatus)  for 
the  home  abbey.  There  was  also  a general  feeling,  often 
embodied  in  law  or  custom,  that  a Church  dignitary  should 
fight  by  another’s  sword  and  spear.  But  this  did  not 
prevent  bishop  and  abbot  in  countless  instances  in  France, 
England,  Germany,  and  Spain,  from  riding  mail-clad  under 
their  seignorial  banner  at  the  head  of  their  forces.1 

Episcopal  lands  and  offices  were  not  inherited  : 2 yet  with 
rare  exceptions  the  bishops  came  from  the  noble,  fighting, 
hunting  class.  They  were  noblemen  first  and  ecclesiastics 
afterwards.  The  same  was  true  of  the  abbots.  Nobly  born, 
they  became  dignitaries  of  the  world  through  investiture  with 
the  broad  lands  of  the  monastery,  and  then  administrators 
by  reason  of  the  temporal  functions  involved.  As  with  the 
episcopal  or  monastic  heads,  so  with  canons  and  monks. 
They,  too,  for  the  most  part  were  well-born.  They  also  were 
good,  bad,  or  indifferent,  warlike  or  clerkly,  devoted  to  study, 
abandoned  to  pleasure,  or  following  the  one  and  the  other 
sparingly.  Many  a holy  meditative  monk  there  was ; 
and  many  a saintly  parish  priest,  the  stay  of  piety  and 
justice  in  his  village.  The  rude  times,  the  ceaseless  murder 
and  harrying,  uncertainty  and  danger  everywhere,  seemed  to 
beget  such  holy  lives. 

1 Many  bishops  and  abbots  held  definite  secular  rank ; the  Archbishop  of  Rheims 
was  a duke,  and  so  was  the  Bishop  of  Langres  and  Laon ; while  the  bishops  of  Beauvais 
and  Noyon  were  counts.  In  Germany,  the  archiepiscopal  dukes  of  Cologne  and  Mainz 
were  among  the  chief  princes  of  the  land. 

2 There  were,  however,  some  (naturally  shocking)  instances  of  inheritance, 
as  where  the  Bishop  of  Nantes  in  1049  admitted  that  he  had  been  invested  with  the 
bishopric  during  the  lifetime  of  his  father,  the  preceding  bishop.  See  Luchaire,  in 
vol.  ii.  (2),  pp.  107-117  of  Lavisse’s  Hist,  de  France,  for  this  and  other  examples  of 
episcopal  feudalism. 


490 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


Invectives,  satires,  histories,  and  records,  bear  witness  to 
the  state  of  the  clergy.  All  diatribes  are  to  be  taken  with 
allowance.  Whoever,  for  example,  reads  Peter  Damiani’s 
Liber  Gomorrhianus  against  the  foulness  of  the  clergy,  must 
bear  in  mind  the  writer’s  fiercely  ascetic  temper,  the  warfare 
which  the  stricter  element  in  the  Church  was  then  waging 
against  simony  and  priestly  concubinage,  and  the  monkish 
phraseology  so  common  to  ecclesiastical  indictment  of 
frivolity  and  vice. 

One  cannot  quote  comfortably  from  the  Gomorrhianus. 
St.  Bernard  furnishes  more  decorous  denunciation : 

“ Woe  unto  this  generation,  for  its  leaven  of  the  Pharisees 
which  is  hypocrisy ! — if  that  should  be  called  hypocrisy  which 
cannot  be  hidden  because  of  its  abundance,  and  through  im- 
pudence does  not  seek  to  hide ! To-day,  foul  rottenness  crawls 
through  the  whole  body  of  the  Church.  If  a heretic  foe  should 
arise  openly,  he  would  be  cast  out  and  withered ; or  if  the  enemy 
raged  madly,  the  Church  might  hide  herself  from  him.  But 
now  whom  shall  she  cast  out,  or  from  whom  hide  herself?  All 
are  friends  and  all  are  foes;  all  necessary  and  all  adverse;  all 
of  her  own  household  and  none  pacific;  all  are  her  neighbours 
and  all  seek  their  own  interest.  Ministers  of  Christ,  they  serve 
Antichrist.  They  go  clothed  in  the  good  things  of  the  Lord  and 
render  Him  no  honour.  Hence  that  eclat  of  the  courtesan  which 
you  daily  see,  that  theatric  garb,  that  regal  state.  Hence  the 
gold-trapped  reins  and  saddles  and  spurs — for  the  spurs  shine 
brighter  than  the  altars.  Hence  the  splendid  tables  laden  with 
food  and  goblets;  hence  the  feastings  and  drunkenness,  the 
guitars,  the  lyres  and  the  flutes;  hence  the  swollen  wine-presses 
and  the  storehouses  heaped  and  running  over  from  this  one  into 
that,  and  the  jars  of  perfumes,  and  the  stuffed  purses.  ’Tis  for 
such  matters  that  they  wish  to  be  and  are  the  over-seers  of 
churches,  deacons,  archdeacons,  bishops,  and  archbishops.  For 
neither  do  these  offices  come  by  merit,  but  through  that  sort  of 
business  which  walketh  in  darkness !”  1 

Such  rhetoric  gives  glimpses  of  the  times,  but  also  springs 
from  that  temper  which  is  always  crying  hora  novissima, 

1 Sermo  in  Cantica,  33,  par.  15  (Migne  183,  col.  958-959).  With  this  passage 
from  St.  Bernard,  one  may  compare  the  far  more  detailed  picture  of  the  luxury  and 
dissolute  ways  of  the  secular  clergy  in  France  given  in  the  Apologia  of  Guido  of  Bazoches 
(latter  part  of  the  twelfth  century).  W.  Wattenbach,  “Die  Apologie  des  Guido  von 
Bazoches,”  Sitzungsberichte  Preussichen  Akad.,  1893  (1),  pp.  395-420. 


CHAP.  XXI 


THE  SPOTTED  ACTUALITY 


491 


tempora  pessima.  Invectives  of  this  nature  have  their  deepest 
sources  in  the  religious  sense  of  the  ineradicable  opposition 
between  this  world  and  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  Yet  luxury 
did  in  fact  pervade  the  Church  of  Bernard’s  time,  and  simony 
was  as  wide  as  western  Europe.  This  crime  was  the  off- 
spring of  the  entire  social  state ; it  was  part  and  parcel  of 
the  feudal  system  and  the  whole  matter  of  lay  investitures. 
One  sees  that  simony  was  no  extraneous  stain  to  be  washed 
off  from  the  body  ecclesiastic,  but  rather  an  element  of  its 
actual  constitution.  The  eradication  had  to  come  through 
social  and  ecclesiastical  evolution,  rather  than  spasmodic 
reformation. 

One  may  turn  from  the  invectives  of  the  great  saint  to 
forms  of  satire  more  frankly  literary.  The  Latin  poems 
“ commonly  attributed  to  Walter  Mapes”1  satirize  with 
biting  ridicule,  through  the  mouth  of  “ Bishop  Golias,”  the 
avarice  and  venality,  the  gluttony  and  lubricity  of  the 
Church,  secular  and  monastic.  In  a quite  different  kind  of 
poem  the  satire  directs  itself  against  the  rapacity  of  Rome. 
She,  head  of  the  Church  and  Caput  Mundi,  is  shown  to  be 
like  Scylla  and  Charybdis  and  the  Sirens.2  These  powerful 
verses  anticipate  the  denunciation  of  the  Roman  papacy 
by  the  good  Germans,  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide  and 
Freidank,3  and,  a century  later,  in  the  Vision  of  Piers 
Ploughman. 

In  this  outcry  against  papal  rapacity  France  was  not 
silent.  Most  extreme  is  the  “ Bible”  of  Guiot  de  Provens: 
it  satirizes  the  entire  age,  “siecle  puant  et  orrible.”  As  it 
turns  toward  the  papacy  it  cries : 

“Ha!  Rome,  Rome, 

Encor  ociras  tu  maint  home ! ” 

The  cardinals  are  stuffed  with  avarice  and  simony  and  evil 
living;  without  faith  or  religion,  they  sell  God  and  His 
Mother,  and  betray  us  and  their  fathers.  Rome  sucks  and 
devours  us;  Rome  kills  and  destroys  all.  Guiot’s  voice  is 
raised  against  the  entire  Church ; neither  the  monks  nor  the 
seculars  escape — -bishops,  priests,  canons,  the  black  monks 

1 Ed.  by  T.  Wright  (Camden  Society,  London,  1841). 

3 The  poem  called  De  ruina  Romae.  It  begins,  “Propter  Syon  non  tacebo.” 

3 Post,  Chapter  XXVII. 


492 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


and  the  white,  Templars  and  Hospitallers,  nuns  and  abbesses, 
all  bad.1 

One  might  extend  indefinitely  the  list  of  these  invectives, 
which,  like  the  corruptions  denounced  by  them,  were  common 
to  all  mediaeval  centuries.  From  the  testimony  of  more 
definite  accounts  one  perceives  the  rudeness  and  cruelty  of 
mediaeval  life,  in  which  the  Church  likewise  was  involved. 
In  order  to  rise,  it  had  to  lift  the  social  fabric.  To  this  end 
many  of  its  children  struggled  nobly,  devoting  themselves 
and  sometimes  yielding  up  their  lives  for  the  betterment  of 
the  society  in  which  their  lots  were  cast. 

One  of  these  capable  children  of  the  Church  who  did  his 
duty  in  the  high  ecclesiastical  station  to  which  he  was  called 
was  Eude  Rigaud,  or  Odo  Rigaldus,  Archbishop  of  Rouen 
from  1248  to  1275,  the  year  of  his  death.  He  was  a scion 
of  a noble  house  whose  fiefs  lay  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Brie-Comte-Robert  (Seine-et-Marne).  In  1236  he  joined 
the  Franciscans,  and  then  studied  at  Paris  under  Alexander 
of  Hales,  one  of  the  Order’s  great  theologians.  His  first 
fame  came  from  his  preaching.  As  archbishop,  he  was  a 
reformer,  and  abetted  the  endeavours  of  Pope  Gregory  IX. 
He  was  also  a counsellor  of  Saint  Louis,  and  followed  him 
upon  that  last  crusade  from  which  the  king  did  not  return 
alive.2 

The  good  archbishop  was  a man  of  method,  and  kept  a 
record  of  his  official  acts.  This  monumental  document 
exists,  the  Register  of  Rigaud’s  visitations  among  the  monks 
and  secular  clergy  within  his  wide  jurisdiction,  between  the 
years  1248  and  1269. 3 Consisting  of  entries  made  at  the 
time,  it  is  a mirror  of  actual  conditions,  presumably  similar 
to  those  existing  in  other  parts  of  France.  Rigaud  visited 
many  monasteries  and  parishes  where  he  found  nothing  to 
reform,  and  merely  made  a memorandum  of  having  been 

1 The  "Bible”  of  Guiot  is  published  in  Barbazan’s  Fabliaux,  t.  ii.  (Paris, 
1808).  It  is  conveniently  given  with  other  satirical  or  moralizing  compositions  in 
Ch.-V.  Langlois,  La  Vie  en  France  au  moyen  dge  d’apres  quelques  moralistes  du  temps 
(Paris,  1908). 

2 Salimbene  gives  an  amusing  picture  of  our  worthy  Rigaud  hurrying  to  catch 
sight  of  the  king  at  a Franciscan  Chapter.  Post,  Chapter  XXII. 

3 Regestrum  visitationum  archiepiscopi  Ro thorn agensis,  ed.  Bonnin  (Rouen,  1852). 
It  is  analysed  by  L.  V.  Delisle,  in  an  article  entitled  “Le  Clerge  normand”  (Bib.  de 
VEcole  des  Chartes,  2nd  ser.  vol.  iii.). 


CHAP.  XXI 


THE  SPOTTED  ACTUALITY 


493 


there ; wherever  abuses  were  found,  the  entry  expands  to  a 
statement  of  them  and  the  measures  taken  for  their  remedy. 
Consequently  one  may  not  infer  that  the  blameworthy  or 
abominable  conditions  recorded  in  the  particular  instance 
obtained  universally  in  Normandy.  Occasionally  Rigaud 
records  in  more  detail  the  good  condition  of  some  monastery. 
A few  instructive  extracts  may  be  given. 

“Calends  of  October  (1248).  We  were  again  at  Ouville 
(Ovilla).  We  found  that  the  prior  wanders  about  when  he  ought 
to  stay  in  the  cloister;  he  is  not  in  the  cloister  one  day  in  five. 
Item,  he  is  a drunkard,  and  of  such  vile  drunkenness  that  he 
sometimes  lies  out  in  the  fields  because  of  it.  Item,  he  frequents 
feasts  and  drinking-bouts  with  laymen.  Item,  he  is  incontinent, 
and  is  accused  in  respect  to  a certain  woman  of  Grainville,  and 
also  with  the  wife  of  Robertot,  and  also  with  a woman  of  Rouen 
named  Agnes.  Item,  brother  Geoffrey  was  publicly  accused  with 
respect  to  the  wife  of  Walter  of  Esquaquelon  who  recently  had 
a child  from  him.  Item,  they  do  not  keep  proper  accounts  of  their 
revenues.  We  ordered  that  they  should  keep  better  accounts.”  1 

Such  an  entry  needs  no  comment.  But  it  is  illuminat- 
ing to  observe  the  strictness  or  leniency  with  which  Rigaud 
treats  offences.  Doubtless  he  was  guided  by  what  he  thought 
he  could  enforce. 

Apparently  near  the  Ouville  priory,  the  archbishop  was 
scandalized  by  the  priest  of  St.  Vedasti  de  Depedale,  who 
was  convicted  of  taking  part  in  the  rough  ball-play,  common 
in  Normandy,  in  which  game,  as  might  easily  happen,  he 
had  injured  some  one.  “He  took  oath  before  us  that  if 
again  convicted  he  would  hold  himself  to  have  resigned  from 
his  Church.”  2 Rigaud  did  not  approve  of  these  somewhat 
too  merry  games  for  his  parish  priests,  who  were  not  angels. 
The  archbishop  finds  of  the  priest  of  Lortiey  “that  he  but 
rarely  wears  his  capa,  that  he  does  not  confess  to  the  peni- 
tentiarius,  that  he  is  gravely  accused  concerning  two  women, 
by  whom  he  has  had  many  children,  and  he  is  drunken.”  3 

Rigaud  enters  the  cases  of  other  parish  priests  as  follows  : 

“We  found  that  the  priest  of  Nigella  was  accused  as  to  a 
woman,  and  of  being  engaged  in  trade  and  of  treating  his  father 
despitefully,  who  is  patron  of  the  church  which  he  holds,  and  that 

1 Reg.  vis.  p.  9.  2 R.V.  p.  io.  3 R.V.  p.  18. 


494 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


with  drawn  sword  he  fought  with  a certain  knight,  with  a riotous 
following  of  relatives  and  friends.  Item,  the  priest  of  Basinval  is 
accused  as  to  a woman  whom  he  takes  about  with  him  to  the 
market-places  and  taverns.  Likewise  the  priest  of  Vieux-Rouen  is 
accused  of  incontinency,  and  goes  about  wearing  a sword  in 
shameless  garb.  Likewise  the  priest  of  Cotigines  is  a dicer  and 
plays  at  quoits  and  frequents  taverns,  and  is  incontinent,  and 
although  corrected  as  to  these  matters,  perseveres.”  1 

Sometimes  accusations  were  brought  to  the  archbishop 
by  the  suffering  parishioners  : 

“Calends  of  August  (1255).  Passing  through  the  village  of 
Brai,  the  parishioners  of  the  church  there  accused  the  rector  of 
the  church  in  our  presence.  They  said  that  he  went  about  in  the 
night  through  the  village  with  arms,  that  he  was  quarrelsome  and 
scurrilous  and  abusive  to  his  parishioners,  and  was  incontinent.” 

Summoning  this  priest  before  his  ecclesiastical  tribunal, 
the  archbishop  says,  “We  admonished  him  to  abstain  from 
such  ill-conduct ; or  that  otherwise  we  should  proceed 
against  him.”  2 

Either  this  priest  or  another  of  “Brayo  subtus  Baude- 
mont,”  named  Walter,  was  subsequently  deprived  of  his 
priesthood  on  his  own  confession  as  follows : 

“He  confessed  that  the  accusation  against  him  concerning  a 
woman  of  his  parish,  which  he  had  denied  under  oath,  was  sup- 
ported by  truth;  item,  he  confessed  in  regard  to  a waxen  image 
made  to  be  used  in  divining;  he  confessed  [various  other  incon- 
tinencies  and  his  fatherhood  of  various  children] ; item,  he  con- 
fessed his  ill-repute  for  usury  and  base  gain;  he  admitted  that 
he  had  led  the  dances  at  the  nuptials  of  a certain  prostitute  whom 
he  had  married.”  3 

Rigaud  continually  records  accusations  against  parish 
priests,  commonly  for  incontinency  and  drunkenness  and 
generally  unbecoming  conduct,  and  sometimes  for  homicide.4 
But  his  own  examinations  kept  out  many  a turbulent  and 
ignorant  clerk,  presented  by  the  lay  patron  for  the  benefice ; 
and  so  he  prevented  improper  inductions  as  he  might.  The 
Register  gives  a number  of  instances  of  crass  illiteracy  in 
these  candidates,  a matter  to  cause  no  surprise,  for  the 


1 i?.F.  pp.  19-20. 
*R.V.  p.  379- 


2 R.V.  p.  222. 
*R.  V.  p.  154- 


CHAP.  XXI 


THE  SPOTTED  ACTUALITY 


495 


feudal  patrons  of  the  living  naturally  presented  their 
relatives.  Some  of  these  candidates  appealed  to  Rome 
from  the  archbishop’s  refusal,  probably  without  success.1 

A monk  might  be  as  bad  as  any  parish  priest : 

“ Brother  Thomas  . . . wore  gold  rings.  He  went  about  in 
armour,  by  night,  and  without  any  monastic  habit,  and  kept  bad 
company.  He  wounded  many  clergy  and  laity  at  night,  and  was 
himself  wounded,  losing  a thumb.  We  commanded  the  abbot  to 
expel  him ; or  that  otherwise  we  should  seize  the  place  and  expel 
the  monks.”  2 

Life  in  a nunnery  was  the  feminine  counterpart  of  life 
in  a monastery.  There  were  good  and  bad  nunneries,  and 
nuns  good  and  bad,  serious  and  frivolous.  Many  had  the 
foibles,  and  were  addicted  to  the  diversions,  comforts,  or 
fancies  of  their  sex ; they  were  always  wanting  to  keep 
dogs  and  birds,  and  have  locks  to  their  chests ! 

“Nones  of  May  (1250).  We  visited  the  Benedictine  convent 
of  nuns  of  St.  Sauveur  at  Evreux,  There  were  sixty-one  nuns 
there.  Sometimes  they  drank,  not  in  the  refectory  or  infirmary, 
but  in  their  chambers.  They  kept  little  dogs,  squirrels,  and  birds. 
We  ordered  that  all  such  things  be  removed.  They  do  not  observe 
the  regula.  They  eat  flesh  needlessly.  They  have  locked  chests. 
We  directed  the  abbess  to  inspect  their  chests  often  and  unex- 
pectedly, or  to  take  off  the  locks.  We  directed  the  abbess  to  take 
away  their  girdles  ornamented  with  ironwork  and  their  fancy 
pouches,  and  the  silk  cushions  they  were  working.”  3 

Again,  the  picture  is  more  terrible  : 

“Nones  of  July  (1249).  We  visited  the  priory  of  Villa  Arcelli. 
Thirty-three  nuns  are  there  and  three  lay  sisters.  They  confess 
and  communicate  six  times  a year.  Only  four  of  the  nuns  have 
taken  the  vows  according  to  the  regula.  Many  of  them  had  cloaks 
of  rabbit-fur,  or  made  from  the  fur  of  hares  and  foxes.  In  the 
infirmary  they  eat  flesh  needlessly.  Silence  is  not  observed;  nor 
do  they  keep  within  the  cloister.  Johanna  of  Aululari  once  went 
out  and  lived  with  some  one,  by  whom  she  had  a child ; and 
sometimes  she  goes  out  to  see  that  child : she  is  also  suspected 
with  a certain  man  named  Gaillard.  Isabella  la  Treiche  (?)  is 
a fault-finder,  murmuring  against  the  prioress  and  others.  The 
stewardess  is  suspected  with  a man  named  Philip  de  Vilarceau. 

1 See  e.g.  R.V.  pp.  159,  162,  395-396.  2 p.  109.  3 R.V%  p.  73. 


496 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


The  prioress  is  too  remiss;  she  does  not  reprove.  Johanna  de 
Alto  Villari  kept  going  out  alone  with  a man  named  Gayllard,  and 
within  a year  had  a child  by  him.  The  subprioress  is  suspected 
with  Thomas  the  carter ; Idonia,  her  sister,  with  Crispinatus ; and 
the  Prior  of  Gisorcium  is  always  coming  to  the  house  for  Idonia. 
Philippa  of  Rouen  is  suspected  with  a priest  of  Suentre,  of  the 
diocese  of  Chartres ; Marguarita,  the  treasuress,  with  Richard  de 
Genville,  a clerk.  Agnes  de  Fontenei,  with  a priest  of  Guerrevile, 
diocese  of  Chartres.  The  Tooliere  ( ?)  with  Sir  Andrew  de  Monciac, 
a knight.  All  wear  their  hair  improperly  and  perfume  their  veils. 
Jacqueline  came  back  pregnant  from  visiting  a certain  chaplain, 
who  was  expelled  from  his  house  on  account  of  this.  Agnes  de 
Monsec  was  suspected  with  the  same.  Emengarde  and  Johanna 
of  Alto  Villari  beat  each  other.  The  prioress  is  drunk  almost 
any  night;  she  does  not  rise  for  matins,  nor  eat  in  the  refectory 
or  correct  excesses.  ” 

The  archbishop  thereupon  issues  an  order,  regulating 
this  extraordinary  convent,  and  prescribing  a better  way  of 
living.  He  threatens  to  lay  a heavier  hand  on  them  if  they 
do  not  obey.1  This  was  what  a loosely  regulated  nunnery 
might  come  to.  We  close  with  the  sketch  of  a good 
monastery  which  had  an  evil  abbot : 

“ Nones  of  August  (1258).  Through  God’s  grace  we  visited 
the  monastery  of  Jumieges.  Forty- three  monks  were  there,  and 
twenty-one  outside.  All  of  these  who  dwelt  there,  except  eleven, 
were  priests  ( sacerdotes ).  We  found,  by  God’s  grace,  the  convent 
well-ordered  in  its  services  and  observances,  yet  greatly  troubled 
by  what  was  said  of  the  abbot  within  and  without  its  walls.  For 
opinion  was  sinister  regarding  him,  and  there,  in  full  chapter, 
brother  Peter  of  Neubourg,  a monk  of  the  monastery,  leaping  up, 
made  shameful  charges  against  him.  And  he  read  the  following 
schedule : I,  brother  Peter  of  Neubourg,  a monk  of  Jumieges, 
in  my  name  and  in  the  name  of  the  monastery  and  for  the  benefit 
of  the  monastery,  bring  before  you,  Reverend  Father,  Archbishop 
of  Rouen,  for  an  accusation  against  Richard,  Abbot  of  Jumieges, 
that  he  is  a forger  ( falsarius ) because  he  wrote  or  caused  to  be 
written  certain  letters  in  the  name  of  our  convent,  falsely  alleging 
our  approval  of  them  although  we  were  absent  and  ignorant ; and 
secretly  by  night  he  sealed  them  with  the  convent’s  seal.  . . 

The  letters  related  to  an  important  controversy  in  which 
the  monastery  was  involved.  Monk  Peter  offers  to  prove 

1 R.V.  pp.  43-45. 


CHAP.  XXI 


THE  SPOTTED  ACTUALITY 


497 


his  case.  A day  is  set  for  the  hearing.  But,  instead,  the 
very  next  day,  in  order  to  avoid  scandal,  the  archbishop 
called  the  abbot  before  him  and  his  counsellors ; and 

“We  admonished  him  especially  regarding  the  following  matters : 
To  wit:  that  he  should  not  keep  dogs  and  birds  of  chase;  that 
he  should  send  strolling  players  away  from  his  premises ; that  he 
should  abstain  from  extravagant  expenses ; that  he  should  not  eat 
in  his  own  chamber;  that  he  should  keep  from  consorting  with 
women  altogether;  that  he  should  order  his  household  decently; 
that  he  should  lease  out  the  farms  as  well  as  might  be;  that  he 
should  not  burden  the  monks  unduly;  that  he  should  be  more 
in  the  convent  with  them,  and  bear  himself  more  soberly.  He 
made  promises  in  the  presence  of  all  and  took  oath  upon  holy 
relics  that  if  he  failed  to  obey  our  admonition  he  should  be  held 
to  do  whatever  we  should  decree  in  the  premises.”  1 

Rigaud  seems  to  have  been  lenient  here,  but  may  have  known 
the  wisest  course  to  take. 

A peaceful  death  terminated  Rigaud’s  long  career.  We 
may  leave  his  diocese  of  Rouen,  and  travel  north-easterly 
to  the  German  archiepiscopal  dukedom  of  Cologne  for  a 
very  different  example  of  a brave  prelate  who  brought  death 
upon  himself. 

The  man  who  was  chosen  Archbishop  of  Cologne  in 
1216  was  of  the  highest  birth.  It  was  Engelbert,  son  of 
Count  Engelbert  of  Berg.  A young  nobleman,  related  by 
blood  to  the  local  powers,  lay  and  ecclesiastic,  and  destined 
for  Church  dignities,  would  be  quickly  given  benefices. 
Engelbert  received  such,  and  also  was  appointed  Provost  of 
the  Cathedral.  Strong  of  body,  rich,  he  led  a boisterous 
martial  life,  and  took  a truculent  part  in  the  political 
dissensions  which  were  undoing  the  German  realm.  With 
his  cousin,  the  Archbishop  Adolph,  he  went  over  to  the 
side  of  Philip  of  Suavia.  For  this  the  archbishop  and 
his  provost  were  deposed  and  excommunicated  by  Pope 
Innocent  III.  There  ensued  years  of  turbulence  and 
fighting,  during  which  Engelbert’s  hand  followed  his  passions. 
But  with  the  turning  of  events  in  1208  he  was  reconciled 
to  the  Pope,  restored  to  his  offices,  and  went  crusading 
against  the  Albigenses  in  atonement  for  his  sins.  He  stood 


VOL.  1 


R.V.  p.  607. 


2 K 


498 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


by  the  young  Frederick,  then  favoured  by  Innocent,  and 
after  some  intervening  years  of  proof,  was,  with  general 
approval,  elected  Archbishop  of  Cologne.  He  was  about 
thirty-one  years  old. 

There  had  been  power  and  bravery  in  the  man  from 
the  beginning;  and  his  faculties  gained  poise  and  gathered 
purpose  through  the  stormy  springtime  of  his  life.  Now  he 
stood  forth  prince-bishop,  feudal  duke;  a man  strong  of 
arm  and  clear  of  vision,  steadfast  against  the  violence  of  his 
brother  nobles  who  oppressed  the  churches  and  cloisters 
within  their  lordship.  The  weak  found  him  a rock  of 
defence.  Says  his  biographer,  Caesar  of  Heisterbach  : 

“He  was  a defender  of  the  afflicted  and  a hammer  of  tyrants, 
magnanimous  and  meek,  lofty  and  affable,  stern  and  gentle, 
dissembling  for  a time,  and  when  least  expected  girding  himself 
for  vengeance.  With  the  bishopric  he  had  received  the  spiritual 
sword,  and  the  material  sword  with  the  dukedom.  He  used 
either  weapon  against  the  rebellious,  excommunicating  some  and 
crushing  some  by  war. 

Under  him  archbishopric  and  dukedom  prospered,  their 
well-managed  revenues  increased,  palaces  and  churches  rose. 
No  mightier  prince  of  the  Church,  no  stronger,  juster  ruler 
could  be  found.  Said  Pope  Honorius  after  Engelbert’s 
death:  “All  men  in  Germany  feared  me  from  fear  of  him.” 
From  the  lay  and  German  side  is  heard  the  hearty  voice  of 
Walther  von  der  Vogelweide,  no  friend  of  priests  ! “Worthy 
Bishop  of  Cologne,  happy  should  you  be ! You  have  well 
served  the  realm,  and  served  it  so  that  your  praise  rises  and 
waves  on  high.  Master  of  princes ! if  your  might  weighs 
hard  on  evil  cowards,  deem  that  as  nothing ! King’s  guardian, 
high  is  your  state,  unequalled  Chancellor !”  1 

Archbishop  of  Cologne,  duke  of  its  double  dukedom, 
and  Regent  of  the  German  realm,  Engelbert  was  well-nigh 
Germany’s  greatest  figure  during  these  years.  If  his  arm 
was  strong,  his  also  was  the  spirit  of  counsel  and  wisdom. 
And  although  bearing  himself  as  prince  and  ruler,  he  had 
within  him  the  devotion  and  humility  of  a true  bishop. 
Said  one  of  Engelbert’s  chaplains,  speaking  to  the  Abbot  of 


1 In  Pfeiffer’s  ed.,  No.  159.  See  also  ibid.  162. 


CHAP.  XXI 


THE  SPOTTED  ACTUALITY 


499 


Heisterbach : “ Although  my  lord  seems  as  of  the  world, 
within  he  is  not  as  he  appears  outwardly.  Know  that  he 
has  many  secret  comfor tings  from  God.” 

The  iron  course  of  Engelbert’s  life  brought  queryings 
to  the  monkish  mind  of  his  biographer.  Caesar  felt  that  it 
was  not  easy  for  any  bishop  to  be  saved ; how  much  harder 
was  it  for  a statesman-warrior-prelate  so  to  conduct  himself 
in  the  warfare  of  this  world  as  to  attain  at  last  “the  peace 
of  divine  contemplation.”  Not  thither  did  such  a career 
seem  to  lead ! But  there  was  a way,  or  at  least  an  exit, 
which  surely  opened  upon  heaven’s  gate.  This  was  the 
purple  steep,  the  purpureum  ascensum,  of  martyrdom.  Caesar 
was  not  alone  in  thinking  thus  as  to  the  saving  close  of 
Engelbert’s  career;  for  a devout  and  learned  priest,  who  in 
earlier  years  had  been  co-canon  with  Engelbert,  said  to 
Caesar  after  the  archbishop’s  murder:  “I  do  not  think 
there  was  another  way  through  which  a man  so  placed  (in 
statu  tali  positus)  could  have  entered  the  door  of  the 
kingdom  of  heaven,  which  is  narrow.” 

Caesar  tells  the  story  of  this  martyrdom  in  all  its  causes 
and  details  of  plot.  That  plot  succeeded  because  it  was  the 
envenomed  culmination  of  the  hatred  for  the  archbishop  felt 
by  the  nobles — bishops  among  them  too — whom  he  re- 
strained with  his  authority  and  unhesitating  hand.  Frederic, 
Count  of  Isenburg,  a kinsman  of  Engelbert  as  well  as  of  the 
former  archbishop,  was  the  feudal  warden  of  the  nunnery  of 
Essen,  which  he  greedily  oppressed.  The  abbess  turned  to 
Engelbert,  as  she  had  to  his  predecessor.  The  archbishop 
hesitated  to  proceed  against  a relative.  So  the  abbess 
appealed  to  Rome.  Papal  letters  came  back  causing 
Engelbert  to  take  the  matter  up.  He  acted  with  forbearance 
and  generosity;  for  he  even  offered  to  make  up  from  his 
own  revenues  any  loss  the  count  might  sustain  from  acting 
justly  toward  the  nunnery.  In  vain.  Frederic,  so  we  read, 
would  have  none  of  his  interference.  The  devil  hardened 
his  heart;  and  he  began  to  incite  his  friends  and  kinsmen 
(who  were  also  the  kin  of  Engelbert)  to  a treacherous 
attack  upon  the  man  they  could  not  openly  withstand. 

Rumours  of  the  plot  were  in  the  air.  Said  a monk  of 
Heisterbach  to  his  abbot:  “Lord,  if  you  have  any  business 


500 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


with  the  archbishop,  do  it  quickly,  for  his  death  is  near.” 
Engelbert  himself  was  not  unwarned.  A letter  came  to 
him  revealing  the  matter.  Upon  reading  it,  he  threw  it  in 
the  fire.  Yet  he  told  its  contents  to  his  friend  the  Bishop 
of  Minden,  who  was  present.  Said  the  latter:  “Have  a 
care  for  thyself,  my  lord,  for  God’s  sake,  and  not  for  thyself 
alone,  but  for  the  welfare  of  your  church  and  the  safety  of 
the  whole  land.” 

The  archbishop  answered:  “Dangers  are  all  about  me, 
and  what  I should  do  the  Lord  knows  and  not  I.  Woe  is 
me,  if  I keep  quiet!  Yet  if  I should  accuse  them  of  this 
matter,  they  would  complain  to  every  one  that  I was  fastening 
the  crime  of  parricide  on  them.  From  this  hour  I commit 
my  body  and  soul  to  the  divine  care.” 

“Then  taking  the  bishop  alone  into  his  chapel,  he  began  to 
confess  all  his  sins  from  his  very  youth,  with  a shower  of  tears 
that  wetted  all  his  breast,  and,  as  we  hope,  washed  the  stains  from 
his  heart.  And  when  the  Lord  of  Minden  said:  ‘I  fear  there  is 
still  something  on  thy  conscience  which  thou  hast  not  told  me,’  he 
answered:  ‘The  Lord  knows  that  I have  concealed  nothing 
consciously.’  But  thinking  over  his  sins  more  fully,  the  next 
morning  he  took  his  confessor  again  into  the  same  chapel  and 
with  meek  and  contrite  soul  and  floods  of  tears  confessed  every- 
thing that  had  recurred  to  his  mind.  Then  his  conscience  being 
clear,  he  said  fearlessly:  ‘Now  let  God’s  will  regarding  me  be 

done.’ 

“In  the  meanwhile  some  one  was  knocking  at  the  door  of  the 
chapel.  The  archbishop  would  not  let  it  be  opened  because  his 
eyes  were  wet  with  tears.  But  the  knocking  continued,  and  it  was 
announced  that  the  bishops  of  Osnabrtick  and  Munster  (brothers 
of  Count  Frederic)  were  there.  After  he  had  dried  his  eyes  and 
wiped  his  face,  he  allowed  them  to  be  shown  in,  and  said  when 
they  had  entered:  ‘You  lords  both  are  kin  of  mine,  and  I have 
injured  you  in  nothing,  as  you  know  well,  but  have  advanced  your 
interests,  as  I might,  and  your  brother’s  also.  And  look  you, 
from  all  sides  by  word  and  letter  I hear  that  your  brother  Count 
Frederic,  whom  I have  loved  heartily  and  never  harmed,  is 
devising  ill  to  me  and  seeks  to  kill  me.’ 

“They  protested,  trembling  in  their  deceit:  ‘Lord,  may  this 
never,  never,  be ! You  need  have  no  fear ; such  a thought  has 
never  entered  his  heart.  We  all  have  been  honoured  and  en- 
riched and  lifted  up  by  you.’  Which  last  was  true.” 


chap,  xxi  THE  SPOTTED  ACTUALITY  501 

This  was  after  the  festival  of  All  Saints  in  the  first  days 
of  November  1225;  and  Count  Frederic,  the  better  to 
conceal  his  purpose,  came  and  accepted  the  archbishop’s 
terms.  Together  they  set  out  from  Cologne,  the  count 
knowing  that  the  now  unsuspecting  Engelbert  would  stop 
the  next  day  to  dedicate  a church  at  Swelm.  So  it  turned 
out,  and  the  count  took  that  opportunity  to  excuse  himself, 
and  rode  off  to  set  his  men  in  ambush.  Just  then  a widow 
rose  up  from  the  roadside,  and  demanded  judgment  as  to  a 
fief  withheld  from  her.  At  once  the  archbishop  dismounted, 
and  took  his  seat  as  duke  to  hear  the  cause.  It  went  against 
the  widow,  and  in  favour  of  him  who  sat  as  judge.  But  he 
said:  “Lady,  this  fief  which  you  demand  is  taken  from  you 
by  decree  and  adjudged  to  me.  But  for  the  sake  of  God, 
pitying  your  distress,  I relinquish  it  to  you.” 

The  archbishop  rode  on.  About  midday  Frederic  came 
up  again  to  see  which  way  he  was  taking.  Engelbert 
invited  the  count  to  pass  the  night  with  him.  But  he 
declined  on  some  pretext,  and  rode  away.  The  archbishop 
and  his  company  proceeded  on  their  road  until  the  hour  of 
vespers.  Vespers  were  said,  and  again  the  count  appeared. 
Observing  him,  a nobleman  in  Engelbert’s  train  said:  “My 
lord,  this  coming  and  going  of  the  count  looks  suspicious. 
For  the  third  time  he  is  approaching,  and  now  not  as  before 
on  his  palfrey  but  on  his  war-horse.  I advise  you  to  mount 
your  war-horse  too.” 

But  the  archbishop  said  that  would  be  too  noticeable, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  fear.  As  the  count  drew  near, 
they  saw  that  the  colour  had  left  his  face.  The  archbishop 
spoke  to  him : “Now,  kinsman,  l am  sure  you  will  stay  with 
me.”  He  answered  nothing,  and  they  went  on  together. 
Suspicious  and  alarmed,  some  of  the  clergy  and  some  of  the 
knights  withdrew,  so  that  but  a small  company  remained ; 
for  a good  part  of  the  episcopal  household  with  the  cooks 
had  gone  ahead  to  prepare  the  night’s  lodgings. 

It  was  dusk  as  they  drew  near  the  place  of  ambush. 
The  count  grew  agitated,  and  was  blaming  himself  to  his 
followers  for  planning  to  kill  his  lord  and  kinsman,  but  they 
egged  him  on.  Now  the  foot  of  the  Gevelberg  was  reached, 
and  the  count  said  as  they  began  to  ascend,  “My  lord,  this 


502 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


is  our  path.”  “May  the  Lord  protect  us,”  replied  Engelbert, 
for  he  was  not  without  suspicion. 

The  company  was  entering  the  hollow  way  leading  over 
the  summit  of  the  mountain,  when  suddenly  the  followers  of 
Frederic,  who  were  ahead,  turned  on  them,  and  others  leaped 
from  hiding,  while  a shrill  whistle  sounded,  startling  the 
horses.  “My  lord,  mount  your  war-horse;  death  is  at  the 
door,”  cried  a knight.  It  was  indeed.  The  archbishop’s 
company  made  no  resistance,  except  the  faithful  noble  who 
first  had  scented  danger.  The  rest  fled  while  the  murderers 
rushed  upon  Engelbert,  unable  to  turn  in  the  narrow  way, 
and  struck  at  him  with  swords  and  daggers.  One  seized 
him  by  the  cloak  and  the  two  rolled  together  on  the  ground ; 
but  the  strong  and  active  prelate  dragged  himself  and  his 
antagonist  out  of  the  roadway  into  a thicket.  There  he 
was  again  set  upon  by  the  mad  crew,  urged  on  by  the 
count,  and  was  hacked  and  stabbed  to  death.  He  breathed 
his  last  beneath  an  oak  ten  paces  from  the  roadway. 

There  is  no  need  to  recount  the  finding  of  the  gashed 
and  stripped  body,  its  solemn  interment  in  the  Cathedral 
Church  of  St.  Peter’s  at  Cologne,  the  canonization  of 
Engelbert,  and  the  building  of  a chapel,  succeeded  by  a 
cloister,  to  mark  the  place  of  his  martyrdom.  Nor  need  one 
follow  with  Caesar  the  banning  of  the  murderers,  and  the 
unhappy  ways  in  which  their  deaths  made  part  atonement 
for  the  injury  which  their  wicked  deed  had  done  the  German 
realm.1 

The  ideals  and  shortcomings  of  monasticism  were  closely 
connected  with  popular  beliefs.  The  monastic  ideal  had 
its  inception  in  the  thought  of  sin  as  entailing  either 
purgatorial  or  everlasting  punishment,  and  in  the  thought  of 
holiness  as  ensuring  eternal  bliss.  Whatever  other  motives 
participated,  the  knot  of  the  monastic  purpose  was  held  in 
the  jaws  of  this  antithesis,  which  for  itself  drew  form,  colour, 
picturesqueness,  from  popular  beliefs,  and  was  made  tangible 

1 The  above  is  drawn  from  the  “Vita  Sancti  Engelberti,”  by  Caesar  of  Heister- 
bach,  in  Boehmer,  Fontes  rerum  Germanicarum,  ii.  294-329  (Stuttgart,  1845). 
E.  Michael,  Culturzustande  des  deutschen  Volkes  wahrend  des  13”  J ahrhunderts , 
ii.  30  sqq.  (Freiburg  im  Breisgau,  1899),  has  an  excellent  account  drawn  mainly  from 
the  same  source. 


CHAP.  XXI 


THE  SPOTTED  ACTUALITY 


503 


in  countless  stories  telling  of  purity  and  love  and  meekness 
impaired  by  lust  and  cruelty  and  pride,  and  of  retribution 
avoided  by  some  shifty  supernatural  adjustment  of  the  sin. 
Such  stories  might  be  accepted  as  well  by  the  learned  as  by 
the  illiterate.  The  brooding  soul  of  the  Middle  Ages,  with 
its  knowledge  of  humanity  and  its  reaches  of  spiritual  insight, 
was  undisturbed  by  the  crass  superstitions  so  queerly  at  odds 
with  its  deeper  inspiration — a remark  specifically  applicable 
to  thoughtful  or  spiritually-minded  individuals  in  the 
mediaeval  centuries. 

As  we  descend  the  spiritual  scale,  the  crude  superstitious 
elements  become  more  prominent  or  apparently  the  whole 
matter.  Likewise  as  we  descend  the  moral  scale ; for  the 
more  vicious  the  individual,  the  more  utterly  will  he  omit 
the  spiritual  from  his  working  faith,  and  the  more  mechanical 
will  be  his  methods  of  squaring  his  conduct  with  his  fears  of 
the  supernatural.  Nevertheless,  in  estimating  the  ethical 
shortcomings  of  mediaeval  superstitions,  one  must  remember 
how  easily  in  a simple  mind  all  sorts  of  superstition  may 
co-exist  with  a sweet  religious  and  moral  tone. 

Sins  unatoned  for  and  uncondoned  bring  purgatorial  or 
perpetual  torment  after  death,  even  as  holiness  brings 
eternal  bliss.  But  how  were  sins  thought  to  come  to  men  and 
women  in  the  Middle  Ages,  and  especially  to  those  who 
were  earnestly  striving  to  escape  them?  Rather  than  fruit 
of  the  naughtiness  of  the  human  heart,  they  came  through 
the  malicious  suggestions,  the  temptations,  of  a Tempter. 
They  were  in  fine  the  machinations  of  the  devil.  This  was 
the  popular  view,  and  also  the  authoritative  doctrine, 
expressed,  re-expressed,  and  enforced  in  myriad  examples, 
by  all  the  saints  and  magnates  of  the  Church  who  had 
lived  since  the  time  when  Athanasius  wrote  the  life  of 
Anthony  in  devil-fighting  heroics. 

Against  the  devil,  every  man  had  staunch  allies ; the 
readiest  were  the  Virgin  Mary  and  the  saints,  for  Christ  was 
very  high  above  the  conflict,  and  at  the  Judgment  Day  must 
be  its  final  umpire.  The  object  of  the  cunning  enemy  was 
to  trip  man  into  hell,  an  object  hostile  alike  to  God  and 
man.  Saintly  aid  enabled  man  to  overcome  the  devil,  or  if 
he  succumbed  to  temptation  and  committed  mortal  sin,  there 


504 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


was  still  a chance  to  frustrate  the  devil’s  plot,  and  save  the 
soul  by  wiles  or  force.  The  sinner  may  use  every  stratagem 
to  defeat  the  devil  and  escape  the  results  of  sins  committed 
by  himself,  but  prompted  by  his  enemy.  This  was  war  and 
the  ethics  of  war,  in  which  man  was  the  central  struggling 
figure,  attacked  by  the  devil  and  defended  by  the  saints. 
The  latter  also  help  man’s  earthly  fortunes,  and  devotion  to 
them  may  ensure  one’s  welfare  in  this  very  palpable  and 
pressing  life  of  earth. 

This  popular  and  yet  authoritative  view  of  mortal  peril 
and  saintly  aid  is  illustrated  in  the  tales  from  sermons  and 
other  pious  writings.  In  them  any  uncanny  or  untoward 
experience  was  ascribed  to  the  devil.  So  it  was  in  monkish 
Chronicles,  Vitae  sanctorum , Dialogi  miraculorum,  or  indeed 
in  any  edifying  writing  couched  in  narrative  form  or  con- 
taining illustrative  tales.  Throughout  this  literature  the 
devil  inspires  evil  thoughts,  instigates  crimes,  and  causes  any 
unhappy  or  immoral  happening.  It  is  just  as  much  a matter 
of  course  as  if  one  should  say  to-day,  I have  a cold,  or  John 
stole  a ring,  or  James  misbehaved  with  So-and-so.1  Any  man 
might  meet  the  devil,  and  if  sinful,  suffer  physical  violence 
from  him.  If  any  one  disappeared,  the  devil  might  be 
supposed  to  have  carried  him  off.  Details  of  the  abduction 
might  be  given,  or  the  whole  matter  take  place  before 
witnesses. 

“A  rich  usurer,  with  little  fear  of  God  in  him,  had  dined  well 
one  evening,  and  was  in  bed  with  his  wife,  when  he  suddenly 
leaped  up.  She  asked  what  ailed  him.  He  replied : ‘ I was  just 
snatched  away  to  God’s  judgment  seat,  where  I heard  so  many 
accusations  that  I did  not  know  what  to  answer.  And  while 
I waited  for  something  to  happen,  I heard  the  final  sentence  given 

1 The  Dialogi  miraculorum  of  Caesar  of  Heisterbach,  and  the  Exempla  of 
Etienne  de  Bourbon  (d.  1262)  and  Jacques  de  Vitry  (d.  1240)  present  a huge 
collection  of  such  stories.  For  the  early  Middle  Ages,  in  the  decades  just  before 
and  after  the  year  one  thousand,  the  mechanically  supernatural  view  of  any 
occurrence  is  illustrated  in  the  five  books  of  Histories  of  Radulphus  Glaber,  an 
incontinent  and  wandering,  but  observing  monk,  native  of  Burgundy.  Best 
edition  by  M.  Prou,  in  Collection  des  textes,  etc.  (Paris,  Picard,  1886) ; also  in  Migne, 
Pat.  Lat.  142.  An  interesting  study  of  his  work  by  Gebhart,  entitled,  “Un  Moine 
de  Pan  1000,”  is  to  be  found  in  the  Revue  des  deux  mondes,  for  October  1,  1891. 
Glaber’s  fifth  book  opens  with  some  excellent  devil  stories.  As  there  was  a progres- 
sive enlightenment  through  the  mediaeval  centuries,  such  tales  gradually  became  less 
common  and  less  crude. 


CHAP.  XXI 


THE  SPOTTED  ACTUALITY 


505 


against  me,  that  I should  be  handed  over  to  demons,  who  were 
to  come  and  get  me  to-day.’  Saying  this,  he  flung  on  a coat, 
and  ran  out  of  the  house,  for  all  his  wife  could  do  to  stop  him. 
His  servants,  following,  discovered  him  almost  crazed  in  a church 
where  monks  were  saying  their  matins.  There  they  kept  him  in 
custody  for  some  hours.  But  he  made  no  sign  of  willingness  to 
confess  or  make  restitution  or  repent.  So  after  mass  they  led 
him  back  toward  his  house,  and  as  they  came  by  a river,  a boat 
was  seen  coming  rapidly  up  against  the  current,  manned  appar- 
ently by  no  one.  But  the  usurer  said  that  it  was  full  of  demons, 
who  had  come  to  take  him.  The  words  were  no  sooner  uttered, 
than  he  was  seized  by  them,  and  put  in  the  boat,  which  suddenly 
turned  on  its  course  and  disappeared  with  its  prey.”  1 

One  observes  that  this  usurer  had  received  sentence  at 
God’s  tribunal,  and  the  devils  carried  it  out : the  sentence 
gave  them  power.  Any  man  may  be  tempted ; but  falls 
into  his  enemy’s  power  only  by  sinning.  His  yielding  is 
an  act  of  acquiescence  in  the  devil’s  will,  and  may  be  the 
commencement  of  a state  of  permanent  consent.  With 
this  we  reach  the  notion  of  a formal  pact  with  the  devil,  of 
which  there  were  many  instances.  But  still  the  pact  is 
with  the  Enemy ; the  man  is  not  bound  beyond  the  letter, 
and  may  escape  by  any  trick.  It  is  still  the  ethics  of  war; 
we  are  very  close  to  the  principle  that  a man  by  stratagem 
or  narrow  observance  of  the  letter  may  escape  the  eternal 
retribution  which  God  decrees  conditionally  and  the  devil 
delights  in. 

The  sacraments  prescribed  by  the  Church  were  the 
common  means  of  escaping  future  punishment.  Confession 
is  an  example.  The  correct  doctrine  was  that  without 
penitence  it  was  ineffective.  But  popularly  the  confession 
represented  the  whole  fact.  It  was  efficacious  of  itself,  and 
kept  the  soul  from  hell.  It  might  even  prevent  retribution 
in  this  life.  Caesar  of  Heisterbach  has  a number  of 
illustrative  stories,  rather  immoral  as  they  seem  to  us. 
There  was,  for  instance,  a person  possessed  (obsessus)  of 
a devil  who  dwelt  in  him,  and  through  his  lips  would  make 
known  the  unconfessed  sins  of  any  one  brought  before  him ; 

1 Anecdotes  historiques  d' Etienne  de  Bourbon,  par.  422,  ed.  by  Lecoy  de  la 
Marche  (vol.  185  of  Societe  de  l’Histoire  de  France),  Paris,  1877;  cf.  ibid.  par. 
38  3. 


506  THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND  book  hi 

but  the  devil  could  not  remember  sins  which  had  been 
confessed.  A certain  knight  suspected  (quite  correctly)  a 
priest  of  sinning  with  his  wife.  So  he  haled  him  before 
this  obsessus.  On  the  way  the  priest  managed  to  elude 
his  persecutor  for  an  instant,  and,  darting  into  a barn, 
confessed  his  sin  to  a layman  he  found  there.  Returning, 
he  went  along  with  the  knight,  and,  behold,  the  sin  was 
obliterated  from  the  memory  of  the  devil  in  the  obsessus, 
and  the  priest  remained  undetected.1 

Men  and  women  sometimes  escaped  the  wages  of  sin 
by  the  aid  of  a saint,  but  more  often  through  the  incarnate 
pity  of  the  Virgin  Mary.  The  Virgin  and  the  saints  were 
ready  to  take  up  any  cause,  however  desperate,  against  the 
devil ; which  means  that  they  were  ready  to  intervene 
between  the  sinner  and  the  impending  punishment.  People 
took  kindly  to  these  thoughts  of  irregular  intervention,  since 
everlasting  torment  for  transient  sin  was  so  extreme ; but 
a surer  source  of  their  approval  lay  in  the  incomplete 
spiritualization  of  the  popular  religion  and  its  ethics. 

To  thwart  the  devil  was  the  office  of  the  Virgin  and 
the  saints.  Their  aid  was  given  when  it  was  besought. 
Sometimes  they  intervened  voluntarily  to  protect  a votary 
whose  devotions  had  won  their  favour.  The  stories  of  the 
pitying  intervention  of  the  Virgin  to  save  the  sinner  from 
the  wages  of  his  sin,  and  frustrate  the  devil,  are  among  the 
fragrant  flowers  of  the  mediaeval  spirit.  Ethically  some 
of  them  leave  much  to  ask  for ; but  others  are  tales  of 
sweet  forgiveness  upon  heart-felt  repentance. 

Jacques  of  Vitry  has  a story  (scarcely  fit  to  repeat)  of 
a certain  very  religious  Roman  widow-lady,  who  had  an 
only  son,  with  whom  she  sinned  at  the  devil’s  instigation. 
She  was  a devoted  worshipper  of  the  Virgin ; and  the  devil, 
fearing  that  she  would  repent,  plotted  to  bring  her  to  trial 
and  immediate  condemnation  before  the  emperor’s  tribunal, 
for  her  incest.  When  the  widow  knew  of  her  impending 
ruin,  she  went  with  tears  to  the  confessional,  and  then  day 
and  night  besought  the  Virgin  to  deliver  her  from  infamy  and 
death.  The  day  of  trial  came.  Suddenly  the  accuser,  who 
was  the  devil  in  disguise,  began  to  quake  and  groan,  and 

1 Dialogus  miraculorum,  iii.  2.  Similar  stories  are  told  in  ibid.  iii.  3,  15,  19. 


CHAP.  XXI 


THE  SPOTTED  ACTUALITY 


507 


could  not  answer  when  the  emperor  asked  what  ailed  him. 
But  as  the  woman  drew  near  the  judgment  seat,  he  uttered 
a horrid  howl,  exclaiming:  “See!  Mary  is  coming  with 
the  woman,  holding  her  hand/’  And  in  a fetid  whirlwind 
he  disappeared.  “And  thus,”  says  Jacques  of  Vitry,  “the 
widow  was  set  free  through  confession  and  the  Virgin’s  aid, 
and  afterwards  persevered  in  the  service  of  God  more 
cautiously.”  1 

Such  a tale  sounds  immoral ; yet  there  is  some  good 
in  saving  any  soul  from  hell ; and  here  there  was  repentance. 
Caesar  of  Heisterbach  has  another,  of  the  Virgin  taking 
the  place  of  a sinning  nun  in  the  convent  until  she  repented 
and  returned.  Again  repentance  and  forgiveness  makes  the 
sinner  whole.2 

The  Miracles  de  Nostre  Dame 3 are  an  interesting 
repertory  of  the  Virgin’s  interventions.  These  “Mysteries” 
or  miracle  plays  in  Old  French  verse  are  naive  enough  in 
their  kindly  stratagems,  by  which  the  votary  is  saved  from 
punishment  in  this  life  and  his  soul  from  torment  in  the 
next.  The  first  “Miracle”  in  this  collection  runs  thus: 
A pious  dame  and  her  knightly  husband,  from  devotion  to 
the  Virgin  Mary  took  the  not  unusual  vow  of  married  con- 
tinence. But  under  diabolic  incitement,  the  knight  over- 
persuaded his  lady,  who  in  her  chagrin  at  the  broken  vow 
devoted  the  offspring  to  the  devil.  A son  was  born,  and  in 
due  time  the  devil  came  to  claim  it.  Thereupon  a huge 
machinery,  of  pope  and  cardinals,  hermits  and  archangels, 
is  set  in  motion.  At  last  the  case  is  brought  before  God, 
where  the  devils  show  cause  on  one  side,  and  “Nostre 
Dame”  pleads  on  the  other.  Our  Lady  wins  on  the 
ground  that  the  mother  could  not  devote  her  offspring  to 
the  devil  without  the  father’s  consent,  which  was  not 
shown. 

There  is  surely  no  harm  in  this  pleasant  drama ; for 
the  devil  ought  not  to  have  had  the  boy.  But  there  follow 

1 Exempla  of  Jacques  de  Vitry,  ed.  by  T.  F.  Crane,  pp.  no-in,  vol.  26  (Folk- 
lore Society,  London,  1890). 

2 Dialogus  miraculorum,  vii.  34.  Caesar’s  seventh  book  has  many  similar 
tales. 

3 Ed.  in  eight  volumes  by  Gaston  Paris  and  U.  Robert  for  the  Societe  des  Anciens 
Textes  Franfais. 


5°8 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


quite  different  “Miracles”  of  Our  Lady.  The  next  one  is 
typical.  An  abbess  sins  with  her  clerk.  Her  condition  is 
observed  by  the  nuns,  and  the  bishop  is  informed.  The 
abbess  casts  herself  on  the  mercy  of  Mary,  who  miraculously 
delivers  her  of  the  child  and  gives  it  into  the  care  of  a 
holy  hermit.  An  examination  of  the  abbess  takes  place, 
after  which  she  is  declared  innocent  by  the  bishop.  But 
she  is  at  once  moved  to  repentance,  and  confesses  all  to  him. 
In  the  bishop’s  mind,  however,  the  Virgin’s  intervention 
is  sufficient  proof  of  the  abbess’s  holiness.  He  absolves 
her,  and  goes  to  the  hermitage  and  takes  charge  of  the 
child.1 

Such  is  an  example  of  the  kindly  but  peculiar  miracles, 
in  which  the  Virgin  saves  her  friends  who  turn  to  her  and 
repent.  Many  other  tales,  quite  lovely  and  unobjectionable, 
are  told  of  her : how  she  keeps  her  tempted  votaries  from 
sinning,  or  helps  them  to  repent : 2 or  blesses  and  leads  on 
to  joy  those  who  need  no  forgiveness.  Such  a one  was  the 
monk-scribe  who  illuminated  Mary’s  blessed  name  in  three 
lovely  colours  whenever  it  occurred  in  the  works  he  copied, 
and  then  kissed  it  devoutly.  As  he  lay  very  ill,  having 
received  the  sacraments,  another  brother  saw  in  vision  the 
Virgin  hover  above  his  couch  and  heard  her  say:  “Fear 
not,  son,  thou  shalt  rejoice  with  the  dwellers  in  heaven, 
because  thou  didst  honour  my  name  with  such  care.  Thine 
own  name  is  written  in  the  book  of  life.  Arise  and  come 
with  me.”  Running  to  the  infirmary  the  brother  found  his 
brother  dying  blissfully.3 

There  are  lovely  stories  too  of  passionate  repentance, 
coming  unmiraculously  to  those  devoutly  thinking  on  the 
Virgin  and  her  infant  Son.  “For  there  was  once  a nun  who 
forsook  her  convent  and  became  a prostitute,  but  returned 
after  many  years.  As  she  thought  of  God’s  judgment  and 
the  pains  of  hell,  she  despaired  of  ever  gaining  pardon ; as 
she  thought  of  Paradise,  she  deemed  that  she,  impure,  could 
never  enter  there ; and  when  she  thought  upon  the  Passion, 
and  how  great  ills  Christ  had  borne  for  her  and  how  great 

1 fCtienne  de  Bourbon  tells  this  same  story  in  his  Latin;  Anecdotes  kistoriques, 
etc.,  p.  1x4. 

2 See  fitienne  de  Bourbon,  o.c.  pp.  109-110,  120. 

3 fitienne  de  Bourbon,  o.c.  p.  119. 


CHAP.  XXI 


THE  SPOTTED  ACTUALITY 


509 


sins  she  had  committed,  she  still  was  without  hope.  But 
on  the  Day  of  the  Nativity  she  began  to  think  that  unto 
us  a Child  is  born,  and  that  children  are  appeased  easily. 
Before  the  image  of  the  Virgin  she  began  to  think  of  the 
Saviour’s  infancy,  and,  with  floods  of  passionate  tears, 
besought  the  Child  through  the  benignity  of  His  childhood 
to  have  mercy  upon  her.  She  heard  a voice  saying  to  her 
that  through  the  benignity  of  that  childhood  which  she  had 
invoked,  her  sins  were  forgiven.”  1 

But  enough  of  these  stories.  Nor  is  there  need  to 
enlarge  upon  the  relic-worship  and  other  superstitions  of 
the  Middle  Ages.  One  sees  such  matters  on  every  side. 
It  was  all  a matter  of  course,  and  disapprovals  were  rare. 
Such  conceptions  of  sin  and  the  devil’s  part  in  it  affected 
the  morality  of  clergy  as  well  as  laity.  The  morals  of  the 
latter  could  not  rise  above  those  of  their  instructors ; and 
the  layman’s  religion  of  masses,  veneration  of  relics,  pilgrim- 
ages, almsgiving  and  endowment  of  monasteries,  scarcely 
interfered  with  the  cruelty  and  rapine  to  which  he  might 
be  addicted. 

1 fitienne  de  Bourbon,  o.c.  p.  83. 


CHAPTER  XXII 


THE  WORLD  OF  SALIMBENE 

At  the  close  of  this  long  survey  of  the  saintly  ideals  and 
actualities  of  the  Middle  Ages,  it  will  be  illuminating  to  look 
abroad  over  mediaeval  life  through  the  half  mystic  but  most 
observant  eyes  of  a certain  Italian  Franciscan.  The  Middle 
Ages  were  not  characterized  by  the  open  eye.  Mediaeval 
Chronicles  and  Vitae  rarely  afford  a broad  and  variegated 
picture  of  the  world.  As  they  were  so  largely  the  work  of 
monks,  obviously  they  would  set  forth  only  what  would  strike 
the  monastic  eye,  an  eye  often  intense  with  its  inner  vision, 
but  not  wide  open  to  the  occurrences  of  life.  The  monk  was 
not  a good  observer,  commonly  from  lack  of  sympathy  and 
understanding.  Of  course  there  were  exceptions ; one  of 
them  was  the  Franciscan  Salimbene,  an  undeniable  if  not 
too  loving  son  of  an  alert  north  Italian  city,  Parma. 

Humanism  springs  from  cities ; and  it  began  in  Italy 
long  before  Petrarch.  North  of  the  Alps  there  was  nothing 
like  the  city  life  of  Italy,  so  quick  and  voluble,  so  unreticent 
and  unrestrained,  open  and  neighbourly — neighbours  hate  as 
well  as  love ! From  Cicero’s  time,  from  Numa’s  if  one  will, 
Italian  life  was  what  it  never  ceased  to  be,  urban.  The  city 
was  the  centre  and  the  bound  of  human  intercourse,  almost 
of  human  sympathy.  This  was  always  true  ; as  true  in  those 
devastated  seventh,  eighth,  and  ninth  centuries  as  before  or 
after  ; certainly  true  of  the  tenth  and  eleventh  centuries  when 
the  Lombards  and  other  Teuton  children  of  the  waste  and 
forest  had  become  good  urban  Italians.  It  was  still  more 
abundantly  true  of  the  following  centuries  when  life  was 
burgeoning  with  power.  Whatever  other  cause  or  source  of 


chap,  xxii  THE  WORLD  OF  SALIMBENE 


5ii 

parentage  it  had,  humanism  was  a city  child.  And  as  city 
life  never  ceased  in  Italy,  that  land  had  no  unhumanistic 
period.  There  humanism  always  existed,  whether  we  take 
it  in  the  narrower  sense  of  love  of  humanistic,  that  is,  antique 
literature,  or  take  it  broadly  as  in  the  words  of  old  Menander- 
Terence  : “homo  sum,  humani  nil  a me  alienum.” 

Now  turn  to  the  close  of  the  twelfth  century,  and  look  at 
Francis  of  Assisi.  It  is  his  humanism  and  his  naturalism, 
his  interest  in  men  and  women,  and  in  bird  and  beast  as  well, 
that  fills  this  sweet  lover  of  Christ  with  tender  sympathy 
for  them  all.  Through  him  human  interest  and  love  of  man 
drew  monasticism  from  its  cloister,  and  sent  it  forth  upon 
an  unhampered  ministry  of  love.  Francis  (God  bless  him !) 
had  not  been  Francis,  had  he  not  been  Francis  of  Assisi. 

A certain  gifted  well-born  city  child  was  five  years  old 
when  Francis  died.  It  was  to  be  his  lot  to  paint  for 
posterity  a picture  of  his  world  such  as  no  man  had  painted 
before ; and  in  all  his  work  no  line  suggests  so  many 
reasons  for  the  differences  between  Italy  and  the  lands  north 
of  the  Alps,  and  also  so  many  why  Salimbene  happened  to 
be  what  he  was,  as  this  remark,  relating  to  his  French  tour : 
“In  France  only  the  townspeople  dwell  in  the  towns;  the 
knights  and  noble  ladies  stay  in  their  villas  and  on  their 
own  domains.” 1 

Only  the  townspeople  live  in  the  towns,  merchants, 
craftsmen,  artisans — the  unleavened  bourgeoisie ! In  Lom- 
bardy how  different ! There  knights  and  nobles,  and  their 
lovely  ladies,  have  their  strong  dwellings  in  the  towns ; jostle 

1 In  Mon.  Germ.  Hist.  Scriptores,  tome  xxxii.,  Holder-Egger  has  edited  Salim- 
bene’s  Chronica,  with  excellent  indices  (the  above  citation  is  from  p.  222).  The 
greater  part  of  the  Chronica  was  printed  in  1857  in  the  Monumenta  Historica 
ad  provincias  Parmensem,  etc.  The  manner  of  its  truncated  editing  has  been  a grief 
to  scholars.  The  portions,  omitted  from  the  Parma  edition,  covering  years  before 
Salimbene’s  time,  are  printed  by  Cledat,  as  an  appendix  to  his  Thesis,  De  Fr. 
Salimbene,  etc.  (Paris,  1878).  Novati’s  article,  “La  Cronaca  di  Salimbene”  in  vol.  i. 
(1883)  of  the  Giornale  Storico  della  Letteratura  Italiana,  pp.  383-423,  will  be  found 
enlightening  as  to  the  faults  of  the  Parma  editor.  A good  consideration  of  the  man 
and  his  chronicle  is  Emil  Michael’s  Salimbene  und  seine  Chronik  (Innsbruck,  1889) ; 
but  Holder-Egger’s  “Zur  Lebensgeschichte  des  Bruders  Salimbene  de  Adam” 
( Neues  Archiv  filr  deutsche  Geschichtskunde,  Bd.  37,  pp.  163  sqq.,  1911,  with  contin- 
uations to  follow)  may  supplant  other  sources  of  information.  A short  translation 
of  parts  of  Salimbene’s  narrative,  by  T.  L.  K.  Olyphant,  may  be  found  in  vol.  i.  of  the 
Translations  of  the  Historical  Society,  pp.  449-478  (London,  1872) ; and  much  of  Salim- 
bene is  translated  in  Coulton’s  From  St.  Francis  to  Dante  (London,  1907). 


512 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


with  the  townspeople,  converse  with  them,  intermarry  some- 
times, lord  it  over  them  when  they  can,  hate  them,  murder 
them.  But  there  they  are,  and  what  variety  and  colour  and 
picturesqueness  and  illumination  do  they  not  add  to  city 
life  ? If  a Lombardy  town  was  thronged  with  merchants  and 
craftsmen,  it  was  also  gay  and  voluptuous  with  knights  and 
ladies.  How  rich  and  fascinating  its  life  compared  with  the 
grey  towns  beyond  the  Alps ! In  France  the  townspeople 
made  an  audience  for  the  Fabliaux ! The  Italian  town  had 
also  its  courtly  audience  of  knight  and  dame  for  the  love 
lyrics  of  the  troubadour,  and  for  the  romances  of  chivalry. 
In  fact,  the  whole  world  was  there,  and  not  just  workaday, 
sorry,  parts  of  it. 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  full  and  varied  city  life  in  which 
he  was  born  and  bred,  the  quick-eyed  youth  would  not  have 
had  that  fund  of  human  interest  and  intuition  which  makes 
him  so  pleasant  and  so  different  from  any  one  north  of  the 
Alps  in  the  thirteenth  century.  A city  boy  indeed,  and 
what  a full  personality ! He  was  to  be  a man  of  human 
curiosity,  a tireless  sight-seer.  His  interest  is  universal ; his 
human  love  quick  enough — for  those  he  loved ; for  he  was 
no  saint,  although  a Minorite.  His  detestation  is  vivid, 
illuminating ; it  brings  the  hated  man  before  us.  And 
Salimbene’s  wide-open  eyes  are  his  own.  He  sees  with  a 
fresh  vision ; he  is  himself ; a man  of  temperament,  which 
lends  its  colours  to  the  panorama.  His  own  interest  or 
curiosity  is  paramount  with  him  ; so  his  narrative  will  naively 
follow  his  sweet  will  and  whim,  and  pass  from  topic  to  topic 
in  chase  of  the  suggestions  of  his  thoughts. 

The  result  is  for  us  a unique  treasure-trove.  The  story 
presents  the  world  and  something  more ; two  worlds,  if  you 
will,  very  co-related : macrocosmos  and  microcosmos , the 
world  without  and  the  very  eager  ego,  Salimbene.  There 
he  is  unfailing,  the  writer  in  his  world.  Scarcely  another 
mediaeval  penman  so  naively  shows  the  world  he  moves 
about  in  and  himself.  Let  us  follow,  for  a little,  his  auto- 
biographic chronicle,  taking  the  liberty  which  he  always 
took,  of  selecting  as  we  choose. 

In  the  year  1221  Salimbene  was  born  at  Parma,  into 
the  very  centre  of  the  world  of  strife  between  popes  and 


chap,  xxii  THE  WORLD  OF  SALIMBENE 


5i3 


emperors — a world  wherein  also  the  renewed  Gospel  was 
being  preached  by  Francis  of  Assisi,  who  did  not  die  till  five 
years  later.  But  St.  Dominic  died  the  year  of  Salimbene’s 
birth.  Innocent  III.,  most  powerful  of  popes,  had  breathed 
his  last  five  years  before,  leaving  surviving  him  that  viper- 
nursling of  the  papacy,  Frederick  II.,  an  able,  much- 
experienced  youth  of  twenty- two.  Frederick  was  afterwards 
crowned  emperor  by  Honorius  III.,  and  soon  showed 
himself  the  most  resourceful  of  his  Hohenstaufen  line  of 
arch-enemies  to  the  papacy.  This  Emperor  Frederick,  whom 
Innocent  III.,  says  Salimbene,  had  exalted  and  named 
“Son  of  the  Church”  . . . “was  a man  pestiferous  and 
accursed,  a schismatic,  heretic,  and  epicurean,  who  corrupted 
the  whole  earth.”  1 

Salimbene’s  family  was  in  high  regard  at  Parma,  and 
the  boy  naturally  saw  and  perhaps  met  the  interesting 
strangers  coming  to  the  town.  He  tells  us  that  when  he 
was  baptized  the  lord  Balianus  of  Sydon,  a great  baron  of 
France,  a retainer  of  the  Emperor  Frederick’s,  “lifted  me 
from  the  sacred  font.”  The  mother  was  a pious  dame,  whom 
Salimbene  loved  none  too  well,  because  once  she  snatched  up 
his  infant  sisters  to  flee  from  the  danger  of  the  Baptistery 
toppling  over  upon  their  house  during  an  earthquake,  and 
left  Salimbene  himself  lying  in  his  cradle ! The  father  had 
been  a crusader,  and  was  a man  of  wealth  and  influence. 

So  the  youth  was  born  into  a stirring  swirl  of  life. 
These  vigorous  northern  Italian  cities  hated  each  other 
shrewdly  in  the  thirteenth  century.  When  the  boy  was 
eight  years  old  a great  fight  took  place  between  the  folk 
of  Parma,  Modena,  and  Cremona  on  the  one  side,  and  that 
big  blustering  Bologna.  Hot  was  the  battle.  On  the 
Carrocio  of  Parma  only  one  man  remained ; for  it  was 
stripped  of  its  defenders  by  the  stones  from  those  novel  war- 
engines  of  the  Bolognese,  called  manganellae.  Nevertheless 
the  three  towns  won  the  battle,  and  the  Bolognese  turned 
their  backs  and  abandoned  their  own  Carrocio.  The 
Cremona  people  wanted  to  drag  it  within  their  walls ; but 
the  prudent  Parma  leaders  prevented  it,  because  such  action 
would  have  been  an  insult  forever,  and  a lasting  cause  of 

1 Parma  edition,  p.  3 ; Mon.  Germ,  xxxii.  p.  31. 


VOL.  I 


2 L 


5*4 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


war  with  a strong  enemy.  But  Salimbene  saw  the  captured 
manganellae  brought  as  trophies  into  his  city. 

Other  scenes  of  more  peaceful  rejoicing  came  before  his 
eyes;  as  in  the  year  1233,  he  being  twelve  years  old. 
That  was  a year  of  alleluia,  as  it  was  afterwards  called, 

“to  wit  a time  of  peace  and  quiet,  of  joy,  jollity  and  merry- 
making, of  praise  and  jubilee ; because  wars  were  over.  Horse 
and  foot,  townsfolk  and  rustics,  youths  and  virgins,  old  and  young, 
sang  songs  and  hymns.  There  was  such  devotion  in  all  the  cities 
of  Italy.  And  I saw  that  each  quarter  of  the  city  would  have  its 
banner  in  the  procession,  a banner  on  which  was  painted  the 
figure  of  its  martyr-saint.  And  men  and  women,  boys  and  girls, 
thronged  from  the  villages  to  the  city  with  their  flags,  to  hear  the 
preaching,  and  praise  God.  They  had  branches  of  trees  and 
lighted  candles.  There  was  preaching  morning,  noon,  and  even- 
ing, and  stationes  arranged  in  churches  and  squares;  and  they 
lifted  their  hands  to  God  to  praise  and  bless  Him  forever.  Nor 
could  they  cease,  so  drunk  were  they  with  love  divine.  There 
was  no  wrath  among  them,  or  disquiet  or  rancour.  Everything 
was  peaceful  and  benign ; I saw  it  with  my  eyes.”  1 

And  then  Salimbene  tells  of  all  the  famous  preachers,  and 
the  lovely  hymns,  and  Ave  Marias ; Fra  ter  So-and-so,  from 
Bologna  ; Fra  ter  So-and-so  from  somewhere  else ; Minorite 
and  Preaching  friar. 

One  might  almost  fancy  himself  in  the  Florence  of 
Savonarola.  Like  enough  this  season  of  soul  outpour  and 
tears  and  songs  of  joy  first  stirred  the  religious  temper  of 
this  quickly  moved  youth.  These  were  also  the  great  days 
of  dawning  for  the  Friars.  Dominic  was  not  yet  sainted; 
yet  his  Order  of  the  Preaching  Friars  was  growing.  The 
blessed  Francis  had  been  canonized ; — sainted  had  he  been 
indeed  before  his  death ! And  the  world  was  turning  to 
these  novel,  open,  sympathetic  brethren  who  were  pouring 
themselves  through  Europe.  Love’s  mendicancy,  envied  but 
not  yet  discredited,  was  before  men’s  eyes  and  in  men’s 
thoughts ; and  what  opportunity  it  offered  of  helping  people, 
of  saving  one’s  own  soul,  and  of  seeing  the  world ! We  can 
guess  how  Salimbene’s  temper  was  drawn  by  it.  We  know 
at  least  that  one  of  these  friars,  Brother  Girard  of  Modena, 


1 P.  31 ; Mon.  Germ.  p.  70. 


chap,  xxii  THE  WORLD  OF  SALIMBENE 


5T5 


who  preached  at  this  jubilee  in  Parma,  was  the  man  who 
made  petition  five  years  later  for  Salimbene,  so  that  the 
Minister-General  of  the  Minorites,  Brother  Elias,  being  then 
at  Parma,  received  the  seventeen-year-old  boy  into  the 
Order,  in  the  year  1238. 

Salimbene’s  father  was  frantic  at  the  loss  of  his  heir. 
Never  while  he  lived  did  he  cease  to  lament  it.  He  at  once 
began  strenuous  appeals  to  have  his  son  returned  to  him. 
Salimbene’s  account  of  this,  exhibits  himself,  his  father,  and 
the  situation. 

“He  complained  to  the  emperor  (Frederick  II.),  who  had  come 
to  Parma,  that  the  brothers  Minorites  had  taken  his  son  from  him. 
The  emperor  wrote  to  Brother  Elias  that  if  he  held  his  favour  dear, 
he  should  listen  to  him  and  return  me  to  my  father.  Then  my 
father  went  to  Assisi,  where  Brother  Elias  was,  and  placed  in  his 
hands  the  emperor’s  letter,  which  began  : ‘ In  order  to  mitigate  the 
sighs  of  our  faithful  Guido  de  Adam,’  and  so  forth.  Brother 
Illuminatus,  Brother  Elias’s  scribe,  showed  me  this  letter  long 
afterwards,  when  I was  with  him  in  the  convent  at  Siena. 

“When  the  imperial  letter  had  been  read,  Brother  Elias  wrote 
at  once  to  the  brethren  of  the  convent  at  Fano,  where  I dwelt,  that 
if  I wished  it,  they  should  return  me  to  my  father  without  delay ; 
but  that  if  I did  not  wish  to  go  with  my  father,  they  should  guard 
and  keep  me  as  the  pupil  of  his  eye. 

“A  number  of  knights  came  with  my  father  to  Fano,  to  see  the 
end  of  my  affair.  There  was  I and  my  salvation  made  the  centre 
of  the  spectacle.  The  brethren  were  assembled,  with  them  of  the 
world ; and  there  was  much  talk.  My  father  produced  the  letter 
of  the  minister-general,  and  showed  it  to  the  brothers.  When  it 
was  read,  Brother  Jeremiah,  who  was  in  charge  of  me,  answered 
my  father  in  the  hearing  of  all : ‘Lord  Guido,  we  sympathize  with 
your  distress,  and  are  prepared  to  obey  the  letter  of  our  father. 
Behold,  here  is  your  son;  he  is  old  enough;  let  him  speak  for 
himself.  Ask  him ; if  he  wishes  to  go  with  you,  let  him  in  God’s 
name  ; if  not,  we  cannot  force  him.’ 

“My  father  asked  me  whether  I wished  to  go  with  him  or  not. 
I replied,  No ; because  the  Lord  says,  ‘No  one  putting  his  hand  to 
the  plow  and  looking  back  is  fit  for  the  kingdom  of  God.’ 

“And  father  said  to  me : ‘Thou  carest  not  for  thy  father  and 
mother,  who  are  afflicted  with  many  griefs  for  thee.’ 

“I  replied:  ‘Truly  I do  not  care,  because  the  Lord  says,  Who 
loveth  father  or  mother  more  than  me  is  not  worthy  of  me.  But 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


516 

of  thee  He  also  says : Who  loveth  son  or  daughter  more  than  me 
is  not  worthy  of  me.  Thou  oughtest  to  care,  father,  for  Him  who 
hung  on  the  cross  for  us,  that  He  might  give  us  eternal  life.  For 
it  is  himself  who  says : I am  come  to  set  a man  against  his  father, 
and  the  daughter  against  her  mother,  and  the  daughter-in-law 
against  her  mother-in-law.  And  a man’s  foes  are  they  of  his 
household.’ 

“The  brethren  wondered  and  rejoiced  that  I said  such  things 
to  my  father.  And  then  my  father  said:  ‘You  have  bewitched 
and  deceived  my  son,  so  that  he  will  not  mind  me.  I will  com- 
plain again  of  you  to  the  emperor  and  to  the  minister-general. 
Now  let  me  speak  with  my  son  apart  from  you ; and  you  will  see 
him  follow  me  without  delay.’ 

“So  the  brothers  allowed  me  to  talk  with  him  alone;  for  they 
began  to  have  a little  confidence  in  me,  because  of  my  words.  Yet 
they  listened  behind  the  wall  to  what  we  should  say.  For  they 
trembled  as  a reed  in  water,  lest  my  father  should  alter  my  mind 
with  his  blandishments.  And  not  for  me  alone  they  feared,  but 
lest  my  return  should  hinder  others  from  entering  the  Order. 

“Then  my  father  said  to  me:  ‘Dear  son,  don’t  believe  those 
nasty  tunics  1 who  have  deceived  you ; but  come  with  me,  and  I 
will  give  you  all  I have.’ 

“And  I replied:  ‘Go  away,  father.  As  the  Wise  Man  says  in 
Proverbs,  Thou  shall  not  hinder  him  to  do  right,  who  is  able.’ 

“And  my  father  answered  with  tears,  and  said  to  me  : ‘ What  then, 
son,  shall  I say  to  thy  mother,  who  is  afflicted  because  of  thee?’ 

“And  I say  to  him:  ‘Thou  shalt  tell  her  from  me;  thus  says 
thy  son : My  father  and  mother  have  forsaken  me,  and  the  Lord 
hath  taken  me  up ; also  (Jer.  iii.) : Thou  shalt  call  me  Father,  and 
walk  after  me  in  my  steps.  ...  It  is  good  for  a man  when  he  has 
borne  the  yoke  from  his  youth.’ 

“Hearing  all  these  things  my  father,  despairing  of  my  coming 
out,  threw  himself  down  in  the  presence  of  the  brethren  and  the 
secular  folk  who  had  come  with  him,  and  said : ‘ I give  thee  to  a 
thousand  devils,  cursed  son,  thee  and  thy  brother  here  who  has 
deceived  thee.  My  curse  be  on  you  forever,  and  may  it  commend 
you  to  the  spirits  of  hell.’  And  he  went  away  excited  beyond 
measure ; while  we  remained  greatly  comforted  and  giving  thanks 
to  our  God,  and  saying  to  each  other,  ‘They  shall  curse,  and  thou 
shalt  bless.’  Likewise  the  seculars  retired  edified  at  my  con- 
stancy. The  brethren  also  rejoiced  seeing  what  the  Lord  had 
wrought  through  me,  His  little  boy.” 

1 The  Latin  is  a little  strong:  “Non  credas  istis  pissintunicis,  idest  qui  in  tunicis 
mingunt.” 


chap,  xxii  THE  WORLD  OF  SALIMBENE 


5i7 


This  whole  scene  presents  such  a conflict  as  the 
thirteenth  century  witnessed  daily,  and  the  twelfth,  and 
other  mediaeval  centuries  as  well.  The  letters  of  St. 
Bernard  set  forth  situations  quite  as  extreme  or  outrageous, 
from  modern  points  of  view.  And  Bernard  can  apply  (or 
shall  we  say,  distort?)  Scripture  in  the  same  drastic  fashion. 
But  these  monks  meant  it  deeply;  and  from  their  stand- 
point they  were  in  the  right  with  their  quotations.  The 
attitude  goes  back  to  Jerome : that  a man’s  father  and 
mother,  and  they  of  his  own  household,  may  be  his  worst 
enemies,  if  they  seek  to  hinder  his  feet  set  toward  God. 
Of  course  we  can  see  the  sensible,  worldly,  martial  father 
of  the  youth  leap  in  the  air  and  roll  on  the  ground  in  rage ; 
flesh  and  blood  could  not  stand  such  turn  of  Scripture : 
Tell  my  weeping  mother  (who  so  longs  for  me)  that  I say 
my  father  and  mother  have  forsaken  me,  and  the  Lord  hath 
taken  me  up ! This  came  to  the  Lord  Guido  as  a madden- 
ing gibe;  but  Salimbene  meant  simply  that  his  parents  did 
not  care  for  his  highest  welfare,  and  the  Lord  had  received 
him  into  the  path  of  salvation.  It  is  all  a scene,  which 
should  evoke  our  serious  reflections — after  which  it  may  be 
permitted  us  to  enjoy  it  as  we  will. 

In  his  conscience  Salimbene  felt  justified ; for  a dream 
set  the  seal  of  divine  approval  on  his  conduct. 

“The  Blessed  Virgin  rewarded  me  that  very  night.  For  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I was  lying  prostrate  in  prayer  before  her  altar, 
as  the  brothers  are  wont  when  they  rise  for  matins.  And  I heard 
the  voice  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  calling  me.  Lifting  my  face,  I saw 
her  sitting  above  the  altar  in  that  place  where  is  set  the  host  and 
the  chalice.  She  had  her  little  boy  in  her  lap,  and  she  held  him  out 
to  me,  saying:  ‘Approach  without  fear  and  kiss  my  son,  whom 
yesterday  thou  didst  confess  before  men.’  And  when  I was 
afraid,  I saw  that  the  little  boy  gladly  stretched  out  his  arms. 
Trusting  his  innocence  and  the  graciousness  of  his  mother,  I drew 
near,  embraced  and  kissed  him;  and  the  benign  mother  gave 
him  to  me  for  a long  while.  And  when  I could  not  have  enough 
of  it,  the  Blessed  Virgin  blessed  me  and  said:  ‘Go,  beloved  son, 
and  lie  down,  lest  the  brothers  rising  from  matins  find  thee  here 
with  us.’  I obeyed,  and  the  vision  disappeared;  but  unspeak- 
able sweetness  remained  in  my  heart.  Never  in  the  world  have 
I had  such  bliss.” 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


518 


From  this  we  see  that  Salimbene  had  sufficient  mystic 
ardour  to  keep  him  a happy  Franciscan.  It  made  the  other- 
worldly part  of  one  who  also  was  a merry  gossip  among  his 
fellows.  An  inner  power  of  spiritual  enthusiasm  and  fantasy 
accompanied  him  through  his  life,  giving  him  a double  point 
of  view : he  looks  at  things  as  they  are,  with  curiosity  and 
interest,  and  ever  and  anon  loses  himself  in  transcendental 
dreams  of  Paradise  and  all  at  last  made  perfect.1 

Although  the  father  had  devoted  his  son  to  a thousand 
devils,  he  did  not  cease  from  attempts,  by  persuasion  and 
even  violence,  to  draw  him  back  into  his  own  civic  and 
martial  world.  So  the  young  man  got  permission  from  the 
minister-general  to  go  and  live  in  Tuscany,  where  he  might 
be  beyond  the  reach  of  parental  activities.  “Thereupon  I 
went  and  lived  in  Tuscany  for  eight  years,  two  of  them  at 
Lucca,  two  at  Siena,  and  four  at  Pisa.”  He  gained  great 
comfort  from  converse  and  gossip  of  an  edifying  kind,  as  he 
fell  in  with  those  loving  enthusiasts  who  had  received  their 
cloaks  from  the  hand  of  the  blessed  Francis  himself.  At 
Siena  he  saw  much  of  Brother  Bernard  of  Quintavalle  who 
had  been  the  very  first  to  receive  the  dress  of  the  Order  from 
the  hand  of  its  founder.  Salimbene  gladly  listened  to  his 
recollections  of  Francis,  who  in  this  venerable  disciple’s  words 
might  seem  once  more  to  walk  the  earth. 

Yet  Salimbene,  still  young  in  heart  and  years,  could 
readily  take  up  with  the  companionship  of  the  ne’er-do-well 
vagabonds  who  frequently  attached  themselves,  as  lay 
brothers,  to  the  Franciscan  Order.  He  tells  of  a day’s 
outing  with  one  of  whose  character  he  is  outspoken  but  with- 
out personal  repugnance : 

“I  was  a young  man  when  I dwelt  at  Pisa.  One  day  I went 
out  begging  with  a certain  lay  brother,  a good-for-nothing.  He 
was  a Pisan,  and  the  same  who  afterwards  went  and  lived  with  the 
brothers  at  Fixulus,  where  they  had  to  drag  him  out  of  a well 
which  he  had  jumped  into  from  some  foolishness  or  desperation. 
Then  he  disappeared,  and  could  not  be  found.  The  brothers 
thought  the  devil  had  carried  him  off.  However  that  may  have 
been,  this  day  at  Pisa  he  and  I went  with  our  baskets  to  beg  bread, 

1 These  qualities  led  Salimbene  to  accept  the  teachings  of  Joachim  and  the  Evan- 
gelium  eternum  {post,  pp.  526  sqq.). 


chap,  xxii  THE  WORLD  OF  SALIMBENE 


5i9 


and  chanced  to  enter  a courtyard.  Above,  all  about,  hung  a thick, 
leafy  vine,  its  freshness  lovely  to  see  and  its  shade  sweet  for  resting 
in.  There  were  leopards  there  and  other  beasts  from  over  the  sea, 
at  which  we  gazed  long,  transfixed  with  delight,  as  one  will  at  the 
sight  of  the  novel  and  beautiful.  Girls  were  there  also  and  boys  at 
their  sweetest  age,  handsome  and  lovely,  and  ten  times  as  alluring 
for  their  beautiful  clothes.  The  boys  and  girls  held  violas  and 
cytharas  and  other  musical  instruments  in  their  hands,  on  which 
they  made  sweet  melodies,  accompanied  with  gestures.  There 
was  no  hub-bub,  nor  did  any  one  talk ; but  all  listened  in  silence. 
And  the  song  which  they  chanted  was  so  new  and  lovely  in  words 
and  melody  as  to  gladden  the  heart  exceedingly.  None  spoke  to 
us,  nor  did  we  say  a word  to  any  one.  They  did  not  stop  singing 
and  playing  so  long  as  we  were  there — and  long  indeed  we  lingered 
and  could  scarcely  take  ourselves  away.  God  knows,  I do  not,  who 
set  this  joyful  entertainment ; for  we  had  never  seen  anything  like 
it  before  nor  could  we  ever  find  its  like  again.” 

From  the  witchery  of  this  cloud-dropped  entertainment 
Salimbene  was  rudely  roused  as  he  went  out  upon  the  public 
way. 

“A  man  met  me,  whom  I did  not  know,  and  said  he  was  from 
Parma.  He  seized  upon  me,  and  began  to  chide  and  revile: 
‘Away  scamp,  away,’  he  cried.  ‘A  crowd  of  servants  in  your 
father’s  house  have  bread  enough  and  meat;  and  you  go  from 
door  to  door  begging  bread  from  those  without  it,  when  you  have 
enough  to  give  to  any  number  of  beggars  ! You  ought  to  be  riding 
on  a war-horse  through  Parma,  and  delighting  people  with  your 
skill  with  the  lance,  so  that  there  might  be  a sight  for  the  ladies, 
and  comfort  for  the  players.  Now  your  father  is  worn  with  grief 
and  your  mother  from  love  of  you,  so  she  despairs  of  God.’  ” 

Salimbene  fended  off  this  attack  of  carnal  wisdom  with 
many  texts  of  Scripture.  Yet  the  other’s  words  set  him  to 
thinking  that  perhaps  it  would  be  hard  to  lead  a beggar’s  life 
year  after  year  until  old  age.  And  he  lay  awake  that  night, 
until  God  comforted  him  as  before  with  a reassuring  dream. 

Pretty  dreamer  as  he  was,  Salimbene  can  often  tell  a 
ribald  tale.  There  was  rivalry,  as  may  be  imagined, 
between  the  Dominicans  (solemnes  praedicatores ) and  the 
Minorites.  The  former  seem  occasionally  to  have  concerted 
together  so  as  to  have  knowledge  of  what  their  friends  in 
other  places  were  about.  Then,  when  preaching,  they  would 


520 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


exhibit  marvels  of  second  sight,  which  on  investigation 
proved  true ! A certain  Brother  John  of  Vicenza  was  a 
Dominican  famed  for  preaching  and  miracles  perhaps,  and 
with  such  overtopping  sense  of  himself  that  he  went  at 
least  a little  mad.  Bologna  was  his  tarrying-place.  There  a 
certain  Florentine  grammarian,  Boncompagnus,  tired  of  the 
foolery,  made  gibing  rhymes  about  him  and  his  admirers,  and 
said  he  would  do  a miracle  himself,  and  at  a certain  hour 
would  fly  with  wings  from  the  pinnacle  of  Sta.  Maria  in  Monte. 
All  came  together  at  that  hour  to  see.  There  he  stood  aloft, 
with  his  wings,  ready,  and  the  folk  expectant,  for  a long  time 
— and  then  he  bade  them  disperse  with  God’s  blessing,  for  it 
was  enough  for  them  to  have  seen  him.  They  then  knew 
that  they  had  been  fooled ! 

None  the  less  the  dementia  of  Brother  John  increased,  so 
that  one  day  at  the  Dominican  convent  in  Bologna  he  fell 
in  a rage  because  when  his  beard  was  cut  the  brothers  did 
not  preserve  the  hairs  as  relics.  There  came  along  a 
Minorite,  Brother  God-save-you,  a Florentine  like  Boncom- 
pagnus, and  like  him  a great  buffoon  and  joker.  To  this 
convent  he  came,  but  refused  all  invitation  to  stay  and  eat 
unless  a piece  of  the  cloak  of  Brother  John  were  given  him, 
which  was  kept  to  hold  relics.  So  they  gave  him  a piece  of 
the  cloak,  and  after  dinner  he  went  off  and  befouled  it,  folded 
it  up,  and  called  for  all  to  come  and  see  the  precious  relics 
of  the  sainted  John,  which  he  had  lost  in  the  latrina.  So 
they  flocked  to  see,  and  were  somewhat  more  than  satisfied.1 

No  need  to  say  that  this  Salimbene  had  a quick  eye  for 
beauty  in  both  men  and  women ; he  is  always  speaking  of 
so-and-so  as  a handsome  man,  and  such  and  such  a lady  as 
“pulcherrima  domina,”  of  pleasing  ways  and  moderate 
stature,  neither  too  tall  not  too  short.  But  one  may  win  a 
more  amusing  side-light  on  the  “ eternal  womanly”  in  his 
Chronicle,  from  the  following:  “Like  other  popes,  Nicholas 
III.  made  cardinals  of  many  of  his  relatives.  He  made  a 
cardinal  of  one,  Lord  Latinus,  of  the  Order  of  Preachers 
(which  we  note  with  a smile,  and  expect  something  funny). 

1 Parma  ed.  pp.  37-41.  This  coarse  story  is  given  for  illustration’s  sake; 
there  are  many  worse  than  it  in  Salimbene.  Novati  prints  some  in  his  article  in 
the  Giornale  Storico  that  are  amusing,  but  altogether  beyond  the  pale  of  modern 
decency. 


chap,  xxii  THE  WORLD  OF  SALIMBENE 


521 


He  appointed  him  legate  to  Lombardy  and  Tuscany  and 
Romagnola.”  Note  the  enactments  of  this  cardinal-legate : 

“He  disturbed  all  the  women  with  a ‘Constitution’  which  he 
promulgated,  to  wit,  that  the  women  should  wear  short  dresses 
reaching  to  the  ground,  and  only  so  much  more  as  a palm’s  breadth. 
Formerly  they  wore  trains,  sweeping  the  earth  for  several  feet  {per 
brachium  et  dimidium) . A rhymer  dubs  them  : 

‘Et  drappi  longhi,  ke  la  polver  menna.’ 

(‘The  long  cloaks  that  gather  up  the  dust.’) 

“And  he  had  this  to  be  proclaimed  in  the  churches,  and 
imposed  it  on  the  women  by  command ; and  ordered  that  no 
priest  should  absolve  them  unless  they  complied.  The  which  was 
bitterer  to  the  women  than  any  kind  of  death ! For  as  a woman 
said  to  me  familiarly,  that  train  was  dearer  to  her  than  all  the 
other  clothes  she  wore.  And  further,  Cardinal  Latinus  decreed 
that  all  women,  girls  and  young  ladies,  matrons  and  widows, 
should  wear  veils.  Which  was  again  a horror  for  them.  But 
they  found  a remedy  for  that  tribulation,  as  they  could  not  for 
their  trains.  For  they  made  veils  of  linen  and  silk  inwoven  with 
gold,  with  which  they  looked  ten  times  as  well,  and  drew  the  eyes 
of  men  to  lust  all  the  more.”  1 

Thus  did  the  cardinal-legate,  the  Pope’s  relative.  And 
plenty  of  gossip  has  Salimbene  to  tell  of  such  creatures  of 
nepotism.  “Flesh  and  blood  had  revealed”  to  the  Pope 
that  he  should  make  cardinals  of  them ; says  he  with  a sort 
of  giant  sneer;  “for  he  built  up  Zion  in  sanguinibus,”  that 
is,  through  his  blood-relatives!  “There  are  a thousand 
brothers  Minorites,  more  fit,  on  the  score  of  knowledge  and 
holiness,  to  be  cardinals  than  they.”  Had  not  another  pope, 
Urban  IV.,  made  chief  among  the  cardinals  a relation  whose 
only  use  as  a student  had  been  to  fetch  the  other  students’ 
meat  from  market? 

It  was  a few  years  after  this  that  Salimbene  returned  to 
his  native  town  of  Parma,  near  the  time  when  that  city 
passed  from  the  side  of  the  Emperor  to  that  of  the  Pope. 
This  was  a fatal  defection  for  Frederick,  which  he  set  about  to 
repair,  by  laying  siege  to  the  turn-coat  city.  And  the  war 
went  on  with  great  devastation,  and  the  wolves  and  other 
wild  beasts  increased  and  grew  bold.  Salimbene  throws 

1 Mon.  Germ.  Hist,  xxxii.  p.  169. 


522 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


Eccelino  da  Romano  on  the  scene,  that  regent  of  the  emperor, 
and  monster  of  cruelty,  “who  was  feared  more  than  the 
devil,”  and  had  once  burned  to  death  “eleven  thousand 
Paduans  in  Verona.  The  building  holding  them  was  set  on 
fire ; and  while  they  burned,  Eccelino  and  his  knights  held 
a tournament  about  them  (circa  eos).  ...  I verily  believe 
that  as  the  Son  of  God  desired  to  have  one  special  friend, 
whom  He  made  like  to  himself,  to  wit  the  blessed  Francis, 
so  the  devil  fashioned  Eccelino  in  his  likeness. ” 1 

Salimbene  tells  of  the  siege  of  Parma  at  much  length, 
and  of  the  final  defeat  of  the  emperor,  with  the  destruction 
of  the  stronghold  which  he  had  built  to  menace  the  city, 
and  of  all  his  curious  treasures,  with  the  imperial  crown  itself 
taken  by  the  men  of  Parma  and  their  allies.  But  before 
this,  while  the  turmoil  of  the  siege  was  at  its  height,  in  1247, 
he  received  orders  to  leave  Parma  and  set  out  for  Lyons, 
where  Innocent  IV.  at  that  time  held  his  papal  court,  having 
fled  from  Italy,  from  the  emperor,  three  years  before. 
Setting  out,  he  reached  Lyons  on  All  Saints  Day. 

“At  once  the  Pope  sent  for  me,  and  talked  with  me  familiarly 
in  his  chamber.  For  since  my  leaving  Parma  he  had  received 
neither  messenger  nor  letters.  And  he  thanked  me  warmly  and 
listened  to  my  prayers,  for  he  was  a courtly  and  liberal  man ; . . . 
and  he  absolved  me  from  my  sins  and  appointed  me  preacher !” 

Our  autobiographic  chronicler  was  at  this  time  twenty- 
six  years  old ; his  personality  bespoke  a kind  reception 
everywhere.  He  soon  left  Lyons,  and  went  on  through  the 
towns  of  Champagne  to  Troyes,  where  he  found  plenty  of 
merchants  from  Lombardy  and  Tuscany,  for  there  were 
fairs  there,  lasting  two  months.  So  was  it  also  in 
Provins,  the  next  halting-place ; from  which  Salimbene  went 
on  to  Paris.  There  he  stayed  eight  days  and  saw  much 
which  pleased  him ; and  then,  going  back  upon  his  tracks, 
he  took  up  his  journey  to  Sens,  where  he  dwelt  in  the 
Franciscan  convent,  “and  the  French  brethren  entertained 
me  gladly,  because  I was  a friendly,  cheerful  youth,  and 
spoke  them  fair/’’  From  Sens  he  went  south  to  Auxerre, 
the  place  which  had  been  named  as  his  destination  when  he 
left  Parma.  It  was  in  the  year  1248,  and  as  he  writes 

1 This  in  fact  became  the  later  legend^of  Eccelino. 


chap,  xxii  THE  WORLD  OF  SALIMBENE 


523 


(how  many  years  after?)  there  comes  back  to  him  the 
memory  of  the  grand  wines  of  Auxerre  : 

“I  remember  when  at  Cremona  (in  1245)  Brother  Gabriel  of 
that  place,  a Minorite,  a great  teacher  and  a man  of  holy  life,  told 
me  that  Auxerre  had  more  vines  and  wine  than  Cremona  and 
Parma  and  Reggio  and  Modena  together.  I wouldn’t  believe 
him.  But  when  I came  to  live  at  Auxerre,  I saw  that  he  spoke 
the  truth.  It  is  a large  district,  or  bishopric,  and  the  mountains, 
hills,  and  plains  are  covered  with  vines.  There  they  neither  sow 
nor  reap  nor  gather  into  barns ; but  they  send  their  wine  by  river 
to  Paris,  where  they  sell  it  nobly ; and  live  and  clothe  themselves 
from  the  proceeds.  Three  times  I went  all  about  the  district  with 
one  or  another  of  the  brothers ; once  with  one  who  was  preaching 
and  affixing  crosses  for  the  Crusade  of  the  French  king  (St.  Louis) ; 
then  with  another  who  preached  to  the  Cistercians  in  a most 
beautiful  monastery;  and  the  third  time  we  spent  Easter  with  a 
countess,  who  set  before  the  whole  company  twelve  courses  of  food, 
all  different.  And  had  the  count  been  at  home,  there  would  have 
been  a still  greater  abundance  and  variety.  Now  in  four  parts  of 
France  they  drink  beer,  and  in  four,  wine.  And  the  three  lands 
where  the  wine  is  most  abundant  are  La  Rochelle,  Beaune,  and 
Auxerre.  In  Auxerre  the  red  wine  is  least  regarded  and  is  not  as 
good  as  the  Italian.  But  Auxerre  has  its  white  or  golden  wines, 
which  are  fragrant  and  comforting  and  good,  and  make  every  one 
drinking  them  feel  happy.  Some  of  the  Auxerre  wine  is  so  strong 
that  when  put  in  a jug,  drops  appear  on  the  outside  ( lacrymantur 
exterius).  The  French  laugh  and  say  that  three  b’s  and  seven  f’s 
go  with  the  best  wine : 

‘Le  vin  bon  et  bel  et  blanc, 

Fort  et  fer  et  fin  et  franc, 

Freit  et  fres  et  fourmijant.’ 

“The  French  delight  in  good  wine — no  wonder!  since  it 
‘gladdens  God  and  men.’  Both  French  and  English  are  very 
diligent  with  their  drinking-cups.  Indeed  the  French  have  blear 
eyes  from  drinking  overmuch;  and  in  the  morning  after  a bout, 
they  go  to  the  priest  who  has  celebrated  mass  and  ask  him  to  drop 
a little  of  the  water  in  which  he  has  washed  his  hands  into  their 
eyes.  But  Brother  Bartholomew  at  Provins  has  a way  of  saying 
it  would  be  better  for  them  if  they  would  put  their  water  in  their 
wine  instead  of  in  their  eyes.  As  for  the  English,  they  take  a 
measure  of  wine,  drink  it  out,  and  say:  ‘I  have  drunk;  now 
you’ — meaning  that  you  should  drink  as  much.  And  this  is  their 


524 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


idea  of  politeness;  and  any  one  will  take  it  very  ill  if  the  other 
does  not  follow  his  precept  and  example.” 1 

While  Salimbene  was  living  at  Auxerre,  in  the  year 
1248,  a provincial  Chapter  of  the  Franciscan  Order  was  held 
at  Sens,  with  the  Minister-General,  John  of  Parma,  presiding. 
Thither  went  Salimbene. 

“The  King  of  France,  St.  Louis,  was  expected.  And  the 
brothers  all  went  out  from  the  house  to  receive  him.  And  Brother 
Rigaud,2  of  the  Order,  Archbishop  of  Rouen,  having  put  on  his 
pontifical  trappings,  left  the  house  and  hurried  toward  the  king, 
asking  all  the  time,  ‘Where  is  the  king?  where  is  the  king?’ 
And  I followed  him ; for  he  went  alone  and  frantically,  his  mitre 
on  his  head  and  pastoral  staff  in  hand.  He  had  been  tardy  in 
dressing  himself,  so  that  the  other  brothers  had  gone  ahead,  and 
now  lined  the  street,  with  faces  turned  from  the  town,  straining 
to  see  the  king  coming.  And  I wondered,  saying  to  myself,  that 
I had  read  that  these  Senonian  Gauls  once,  under  Brennus, 
captured  Rome;  now  their  women  seemed  a lot  of  servant  girls. 
If  the  King  of  France  had  made  a progress  through  Pisa  or 
Bologna,  the  whole  elite  of  the  ladies  of  the  city  would  have  met 
him.  Then  I remembered  the  Gallic  way,  for  the  mere  townsfolk 
to  dwell  in  the  towns,  while  the  knights  and  noble  ladies  live  in 
their  castles  and  possessions. 

“The  king  was  slender  and  graceful,  rather  lean,  of  fair  height, 
with  an  angelic  look  and  gracious  face.  And  he  came  to  the 
church  of  the  brothers  Minorites  not  in  regal  pomp,  but  on  foot  in 
the  habit  of  a pilgrim,  with  wallet  and  staff,  which  well  adorned 
his  royal  shoulder.  His  own  brothers,  who  were  counts,  followed 
in  like  humility  and  garb.  Nor  did  the  king  care  as  much  for  the 
society  of  nobles  as  for  the  prayers  and  suffrages  of  the  poor. 
Indeed  he  was  one  to  be  held  a monk,  both  on  the  score  of  devo- 
tion and  for  his  knightly  deeds  of  arms. 

“Thus  he  entered  the  church  of  the  brethren,  with  most  devout 
genuflections,  and  prayed  before  the  altar.  And  when  he  left  the 
church  and  paused  at  the  threshold,  I was  next  to  him.  And 
there,  on  behalf  of  the  church  at  Sens,  the  warden  presented  him 
with  a huge  live  pike  swimming  in  water  in  a tub  made  of  firewood, 

1 Parma  ed.  pp.  90-93;  Mon.  Germ.  p.  218.  In  the  Mon.  Germ,  edition  the 
verse  runs  thus : 

“El  vin  bons  e bels  et  blance, 

Forte  e fer  e fin  e franble, 

Fredo  e fras  e formigant.” 

2 He  whose  Regesta  we  have  read,  ante,  Chapter  XXI. 


chap,  xxii  THE  WORLD  OF  SALIMBENE 


525 


such  as  they  bathe  babies  in.  The  pike  is  dear  and  highly  prized 
in  France.  The  king  returned  thanks  to  the  sender  as  well  as  to 
the  presenter  of  the  gift.  Then  he  requested  audibly  that  no  one, 
unless  he  were  a knight,  should  enter  the  Chapter  House,  except 
the  brethren,  with  whom  he  wished  to  speak.  When  we  were  met 
in  Chapter,  the  king  began  to  speak  of  his  actions  and,  devoutly 
kneeling,  begged  the  prayers  and  suffrages  of  the  brethren  for  him- 
self, his  brothers,  his  lady  mother  the  queen,  and  all  his  com- 
panions. And  certain  French  brothers,  next  to  me,  from  devo- 
tion and  piety  wept  as  if  unconsolable.  After  the  king,  Lord 
Oddo,  a Roman  cardinal,  who  once  was  chancellor  at  Paris, 
and  now  was  to  cross  the  sea  with  the  king,  arose  and  said  a 
few  words.  Then  on  behalf  of  the  Order,  John  of  Parma,  the 
Minister-General,  spoke  fittingly,  promising  the  prayers  of 
the  brethren,  and  ordaining  masses  for  the  king ; which,  there- 
upon, at  the  king’s  request  he  confirmed  by  a letter  under  his 
seal. 

“Afterwards,  on  that  day,  the  king  distributed  alms  and  dined 
with  the  brethren  in  the  refectory.  There  were  at  table  his  three 
brothers,  a cardinal  of  the  Roman  curia,  the  minister-general, 
and  Brother  Rigaud,  Archbishop  of  Rouen,  and  many  brethren. 
The  minister-general,  knowing  what  a noble  company  was  with 
the  king,  had  no  mind  to  thrust  himself  forward,  although  he  was 
asked  to  sit  next  the  king.  So  to  set  an  example  of  courtliness  and 
humility,  he  sat  among  the  lowest.  On  that  day  first  we  had 
cherries  and  then  the  very  whitest  bread ; there  was  wine  in 
abundance  and  of  the  best,  as  befitted  the  regal  magnificence. 
And  after  the  Gallic  custom  many  reluctant  ones  were  invited  and 
forced  to  drink.  After  that  we  had  fresh  beans  cooked  in  milk, 
fish  and  crabs,  eel-pies,  rice  with  milk  of  almonds  and  powdered 
cinnamon,  broiled  eels  with  excellent  sauce;  and  plenty  of  cakes 
and  herbs,  and  fruit.  Everything  was  well  served,  and  the 
service  at  table  excellent. 

“The  following  day  the  king  resumed  his  journey,  and  I 
followed  him,  as  the  Chapter  was  over ; for  I had  permission  to  go 
and  stay  in  Provincia.  It  was  easy  for  me  to  find  him,  as  he 
frequently  turned  aside  to  go  to  the  hermitages  of  the  brothers 
Minorites  or  some  other  religious  Order,  to  gain  their  prayers. 
And  he  kept  this  up  continually  until  he  reached  the  sea  and  took 
ship  for  the  Holy  Land. 

“I  remember  that  one  day  I went  to  a noble  castle  in  Bur- 
gundy, where  the  body  of  the  Magdalene  was  then  believed  to  be. 
The  next  day  was  Sunday ; and  early  in  the  morning  came  the 
king  to  ask  the  suffrages  of  the  brethren.  He  dismissed  his 


526 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


retinue  in  the  castle,  from  which  the  house  of  the  brothers  was 
but  a little  way.  The  king  took  his  own  three  brothers,  as  was 
his  wont,  and  some  servants  to  take  care  of  the  horses.  And  when 
genuflections  and  reverences  were  duly  made,  the  brothers  sought 
benches  to  sit  on.  But  the  king  sat  on  the  earth  in  the  dust,  as  I 
saw  with  my  eyes.  For  that  church  had  no  pavement.  And  he 
called  us,  saying : ‘ Come  to  me,  my  sweetest  brothers,  and  hear 
my  words.’  And  we  made  a circle  about  him,  sitting  with  him 
on  the  earth ; and  his  own  brothers  likewise.  And  he  asked  our 
prayers,  as  I have  been  saying.  And  when  promise  had  been 
given  him,  he  rose  and  went  his  way.”  1 

Is  not  this  a picture  of  St.  Louis,  pilgrimaging  from 
convent  to  convent  to  make  sure  of  the  divine  aid,  and 
trusting,  so  far  as  concerned  the  business  of  the  Holy  Land, 
quite  as  much  in  the  prayers  of  monks  as  in  the  deeds  of 
knights?  We  have  hardly  such  a vivid  sight  of  him  in 
Joinville  or  Geoffrey  of  Beaulieu.2 

After  this  scene,  the  king  proceeded  on  his  way,  to 
make  ready  for  his  voyage,  and  Salimbene  went  to  Lyons, 
then  down  the  Rhone  to  Arles,  then  around  by  sea  to 
Marseilles,  and  thence  to  Areae,  the  present  Hyeres,  which 
lies  near  the  coast.  Here  to  his  joy  he  met  with  Brother 
Hugo  of  Montpellier  whom  he  was  seeking,  the  great 
“Joachite,”  the  great  clerk,  the  mighty  preacher  and  resist- 
less disputer,  whom  he  had  not  forgotten  since  the  days, 
long  before,  when  he  had  been  in  Hugo’s  company  and 
listened  to  his  preaching  at  Siena.  Even  then,  Minorites, 
Dominicans,  and  all  men,  had  flocked  to  hear  this  small  dark 
man,  who  seemed  another  Paul,  as  he  descanted  on  the 
marvels  of  Paradise  and  the  contempt  one  should  feel  for 
this  world;  but  especially  those  Franciscans  delighted  in 
his  preaching  who  were  of  the  “spiritual”  party,  which 
sought  to  follow  strictly  the  injunctions  of  the  blessed 
Francis,  and  also  cherished  the  prophecies  of  Joachim,  abbot 
of  Fiore  in  Calabria,  who  held  to  an  eternal  gospel  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  which  should  supplement  and  finally  supplant 
the  letter  of  the  New  Testament. 

Joachim  died  in  1202  a devoted  adherent  of  the  Church 
and  papacy;  and  although  there  was  much  loose  heresy  in 

1 Parma  ed.  pp.  93-97  ; Mon.  Germ.  pp.  222  sqq. 

2 Post,  Chapter  XXIII. 


chap,  xxii  THE  WORLD  OF  SALIMBENE 


527 


his  writings,  they  were  not  condemned  until  a storm  was 
blown  up  by  a certain  Introductorius  ad  Evangelium  Aeternum 
written  by  a “ spiritual  ” Franciscan  fifty  years  after  the 
prophet’s  death.  Joachim’s  genuine  writings,  as  well  as 
those  falsely  ascribed  to  him,  contained  striking  prophecies 
and  denunciations  of  the  pride  and  worldliness  of  ecclesi- 
astics. Thus  they  fell  in  with  the  enthusiasms  of  the 
“ spiritual”  Franciscans,  who  still  lived  in  an  ecstasy  of  love 
and  anticipation; — in  the  coming  time  some  of  them  were 
to  be  dubbed  Fratricelli,  and  under  that  name  be  held  as 
heretics.1 

John  of  Parma  was,  of  course,  a “Joachite”;  and  “I 
was  intimate  with  him,”  says  Salimbene,  “from  love  and 
because  I seemed  to  believe  the  writings  of  Abbot  Joachim.” 
John  was  likewise  a friend  (so  strong  a bond  was  the  belief 
in  the  holy  but  over-prophetic  Joachim)  of  Hugo  of  Mont- 
pellier, of  whose  manner  and  arguments  we  shall  now  let 
Salimbene  speak. 

“Once  Hugo  came  from  Pisa  to  Lucca,  where  the  brothers  had 
invited  him  to  come  and  preach.  He  arrived  at  the  hour  for 
setting  out  for  the  cathedral  service.  And  there  the  whole 
convent  was  assembled  to  accompany  him  and  do  him  honour, 
and  from  desire  to  hear  him  too.  And  he  wondered,  seeing  the 
brothers  assembled  outside  of  the  convent  door,  and  said : ‘ Ah 
God!  what  are  they  going  to  do?’  The  reply  was,  that  they 
were  there  to  do  him  honour,  and  to  hear  him.  But  he  said: 
‘I  do  not  need  such  honour,  for  I am  not  pope.  If  they  wish  to 
hear,  let  them  come  after  we  have  got  there.  I will  go  ahead 
with  one  companion,  and  I will  not  go  with  that  band.’  ” 

Hugo  was  worshipped  by  his  admirers,  and  hated  by 
those  whom  he  disagreed  with  or  denounced.  Aside  from 
his  disputations  in  defence  of  Joachim,  a sample  of  which 
will  be  given  shortly,  one  can  see  what  hate  must  have 
sprung  from  such  invective  as  Salimbene  reports  him  once  to 
have  addressed  to  a consistory  of  cardinals  at  Lyons,  where 

1 In  the  thirteenth  century  the  spurious  writings  ascribed  to  Joachim  were  more 
in  vogue  than  his  own  compositions.  On  this  much-discussed  matter,  see  Tocco, 
L’  Eresia  nel  medio  evo,  pp.  449-483  (Florence,  1884);  Denifle,  “Das  Evangelium 
aeternum,”  etc.,  Archiv  fur  Lit.  und  Kirchengesch.  i.  p.  48  sqq.;  Fournier,  “Joachim 
de  Flore,”  etc.,  Revue  des  questions  historiques,  lxvii.  (1900),  pp.  457  sqq. ; also  an  article 
in  the  Church  Quarterly  Review,  vol.  lxv.  pp.  17-48;  and  the  article  by  Alphandery 
in  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica. 


528 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


the  Pope  then  held  court.  Here  is  the  story,  quite  too 
harsh  for  the  respectable  editors  of  the  Parma  edition  of  the 
Chronaca : 

“The  cardinal  inquired  of  Brother  Hugo  for  news  {rumor es). 
So  he  reviled  them,  as  asses,  saying:  ‘I  have  no  news,  but  a 

plentitude  of  peace  in  my  conscience  and  before  my  God,  who  sur- 
passes sense  and  keeps  my  heart  and  mind  in  Christ  Jesus  my 
Lord.  I know  that  ye  seek  after  news,  and  wait  idle  the  live-long 
day.  For  ye  are  Athenians  and  not  disciples  of  Christ.  Of  whom 
Luke  says  in  the  Acts : For  all  the  Athenians  and  the  strangers 

which  were  there  had  time  for  nothing  else  but  to  tell  or  hear  some 
new  thing.  The  disciples  of  Christ  were  fishers  and  weak  men 
according  to  the  world,  but  they  converted  the  whole  earth 
because  the  hand  of  the  Lord  was  with  them.  They  set  forth 
and  preached  everywhere,  the  Lord  working  with  them.  But  ye 
are  those  who  build  up  Zion  in  blood  ( i.e . consanguinity)  and 
Jerusalem  in  iniquity.  For  you  choose  your  little  nephews  and 
relations  for  the  benefices  and  dignities  of  the  Church,  and  you 
exalt  and  make  rich  your  clan,  and  shut  out  men  good  and  fit 
who  would  be  useful  to  the  Church,  and  you  prebendate  children 
in  their  cradles.  As  a certain  mountebank  well  has  said : If 

with  an  accusative  you  would  go  to  the  Curia,  you’ll  take  nothing 
if  you  don’t  start  with  the  dative  ! And  another  says,  the  Roman 
Curia  cares  not  for  a sheep  without  wool.’  ” 

And  with  such  like,  Hugo  continues  a considerable  space. 

“Hearing  these  things  the  cardinals  were  cut  to  the  heart  and 
gnashed  their  teeth  at  him.  But  they  had  not  the  hardihood  to 
reply;  for  the  fear  of  the  Lord  came  over  them  and  the  hand  of 
the  Lord  was  with  him.  Yet  they  wondered  that  he  spoke  to 
them  so  boldly ; and  finally  it  seemed  best  to  them  to  slip  out  and 
leave  him,  nor  did  they  question  him,  sayingj,  as  the  Athenians 
to  Paul : ‘We  will  hear  thee  again  of  this  matter.’  ” 1 

Hugo’s  invective  is  outdone  by  Salimbene’s  closing  scorn. 

And  now  (to  return  to  Salimbene’s  journey)  here  at 
Hyeres  in  the  year  1248  many  notaries  and  judges,  and 
physicians  and  other  men  of  learning,  were  assembled  to 
hear  Brother  Hugo  speak  of  the  Abbot  Joachim’s  doctrines, 
and  expound  Holy  Scripture,  and  predict  the  future.  “And 

1 From  Novati,  o.c.  pp.  415,  416;  Mon.  Germ.  pp.  226  sqq.  Cf.  pp.  97  sqq.  of 
the  Parma  ed. 


chap,  xxii  THE  WORLD  OF  SALIMBENE 


S29 


I was  there  to  hear  him ; for  long  before  I had  been  instructed 
in  these  teachings.”  But  there  came  two  Preaching  friars, 
and  abode  at  the  Franciscan  house,  since  the  Dominicans 
had  no  convent  at  Hyeres.  One  was  Brother  Peter  of 
Apulia,  a learned  man  and  a great  speaker.  After  dinner  a 
brother  asked  him  what  he  thought  of  Abbot  Joachim.  He 
answered:  “I  care  as  much  for  Joachim  as  for  the  fifth 
wheel  of  a coach.” 

Thereupon  this  brother  hurried  to  Hugo’s  chamber,  and 
exclaimed  in  the  presence  of  all  the  notables  there:  ‘‘Here 
is  a brother  Preacher  who  does  not  believe  that  doctrine 
at  all.” 

To  whom  Brother  Hugo  : “And  what  is  it  to  me  if  he 
does  not  believe?  Be  it  laid  at  his  door;  he  will  see  it 
when  trouble  shall  enlighten  him.  Yet  call  him  to  debate ; 
let  us  hear  of  what  he  doubts.” 

So,  called,  he  came,  very  unwillingly,  because  he  held 
Joachim  so  cheaply,  and  besides  thought  there  was  no  one 
in  that  house  fit  to  dispute  with  him.  When  Brother  Hugo 
saw  him  he  said:  “Art  thou  he  who  doubts  the  doctrine  of 
Joachim?” 

Brother  Peter  replied  : “Indeed  I am.” 

Then  said  Brother  Hugo : “Hast  thou  ever  read 
Joachim?” 

Replied  Brother  Peter  : “I  have  read  and  well  read.” 

To  whom  Hugo:  “I  believe  thou  hast  read  as  a woman 
reads  the  Psalter,  who  does  not  remember  at  the  end  what 
she  read  at  the  beginning.  Thus  many  read  and  do  not 
understand,  either  because  they  despise  what  they  read,  or 
because  their  foolish  heart  is  darkened.  Now,  therefore,  tell 
me  what  thou  wouldst  hear  as  to  Joachim,  so  that  we  may 
better  know  thy  doubts.” 

Thereupon  there  is  question  back  and  forth  regarding 
the  Scripture  proofs  of  Joachim’s  prophecies,  for  instance, 
those  supposed  to  relate  to  Frederick’s  reign.  Brother 
Hugo  dilates  on  Joachim’s  holiness ; explains  the  dark 
Scripture  references,  and  brings  in  the  prophecies  of  Merlin, 
anglicus  vates , and  talks  of  the  allegorical,  anagogical, 
tropological,  moral  and  mystical,  senses  of  Scripture.  The 
discussion  waxes  hot.  Peter  begins  to  beat  about  the  bush 

VOL.  I 2 M 


530 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


(discurrere  per  ambages ),  and  declares  it  to  be  heretical  to 
quote  an  infidel  like  Merlin.  At  which  Hugo  answers : 
“Thou  liest,  as  I will  prove  multipliciter ; for  the  writings  of 
Balaam,  Caiaphas,  Merlin,  and  the  Sybil  are  not  spurned  by 
the  Church:  ‘The  rose  gives  forth  no  thorn,  although  the 
thorn’s  daughter.’  ” 1 

Peter  then  turns  to  the  sayings  of  the  saints  and  the 
philosophers.  But  as  Hugo  was  doctissimus  in  these,  he  at 
once  twists  him  up  and  finishes  him  (statim  involvit  eum  et 
conclusit  ei).  Hereupon  Peter’s  brother  Preacher,  an  old 
priest  and  a good,  sought  to  come  to  his  aid.  But  Peter 
said,  “Peace,  be  still.”  For  Peter  knew  himself  van- 
quished, and  began  to  praise  Brother  Hugo  for  his  manifold 
wisdom. 

“At  this  moment  came  a messenger  from  the  ship’s  captain, 
bidding  the  brothers  Preachers  hurry,  and  go  aboard.  When 
they  had  left,  Brother  Hugo  said  to  the  learned  men  remaining, 
who  had  heard  the  debate:  ‘Take  it  not  for  evil,  if  we  have  said 
some  things  which  ought  not  to  have  been  said;  for  disputants 
often  roam  the  fields  of  licence.  Those  good  men  glory  in  their 
knowledge,  and  say  that  in  their  Order  is  found  the  fount  of 
wisdom,  which  is  the  Word  of  God.  They  also  say  that  they  travel 
among  simple  folk  when  they  pass  through  the  places  of  the 
brother  Minorites,  where  they  are  ministered  to  with  loving 
charity.  But  by  the  grace  of  God  these  two  shall  no  longer  be 
able  to  say  they  have  walked  among  the  simple.’ 

“His  auditors  dispersed,  edified  and  comforted,  saying,  We 
have  heard  wonderful  things  to-day.  Later,  that  same  day,  the 
brothers  Preachers  returned,  to  our  delight,  for  the  weather 
proved  unfit  for  sailing.  After  dinner,  Brother  Hugo  conversed 
with  them  familiarly,  and  Brother  Peter  sat  himself  on  the  earth 
at  Brother  Hugo’s  feet ; nor  was  any  one  able  to  make  him  rise 
and  sit  on  the  bench  on  the  same  level  with  him,  not  even  when 
Brother  Hugo  himself  besought  him.  So  Brother  Peter,  no  longer 
disputing  or  contradicting,  but  meekly  listening,  heard  honied 
words  spoken  by  Brother  Hugo,  and  worthy  to  be  set  down, 
but  omitted  here  for  brevity’s  sake,  as  I hasten  to  record  other 
things.”  2 

1 For  further  interesting  allusions  to  the  prophecies  of  Merlin,  see  pp.  303,  309 
sqq.,  Parma  ed.,  and  the  index  to  the  Mon.  Germ,  volume. 

2 Pp.  104-109,  Parma  ed. ; Mon.  Germ.  pp.  239  sqq. 


chajp.  xxii  THE  WORLD  OF  SALIM  BENE 


53i 


So  Salimbene  passes  on,  both  in  his  Chronicle  and  in  his 
journey,  but  though  his  steps  lead  deviously  through  the 
cities  of  Provence,  they  bring  him  back  once  more  to  Hyeres 
and  Hugo,  at  whose  feet  he  sits  and  listens  for  a season  in 
rapt  admiration. 

After  this  happy  season,  Salimbene  returned  to  Genoa, 
and  from  that  time  on  spent  his  life  among  the  Franciscan 
brotherhoods  of  Italy.  Henceforth  his  Chronicle  is  chiefly 
occupied  with  those  wretched  unceasing  wars  of  northern 
Italy,  Imperialists  against  Papists,  and  city  against  city — 
and  with  the  affairs  of  the  Franciscan  Order.  The  story  is 
now  less  varied,  yet  not  lacking  in  picturesque  qualities  ; and 
through  it  all  we  still  see  the  man  himself,  although  the 
man,  as  life  goes  on,  seems  to  become  more  of  a Franciscan 
monk,  and  less  of  an  observer  of  human  life.  But  he  con- 
tinues naive.  Thus  he  tells  that  one  time,  with  some 
companions,  he  came  to  Bobbio,  that  famous  book-lovers’ 
foundation  of  St.  Columban,  in  the  mountains  north  of 
Genoa:  “and  there  we  saw  one  of  those  water-pots  of  the 
Lord,  in  which  the  Lord  made  wine  from  water  at  the 
marriage  at  Cana,  for  it  is  said  to  be  one  of  those : whether 
it  is,  God  knows,  to  whom  all  things  are  known  and  open 
and  naked.” 

And  again,  some  one  brings  him  news  of  the  state  of 
France  in  the  year  1251,  when  King  Louis  was  a captive  in 
Africa  ; 1 and  thus  he  tells  it : 

“In  this  year  a countless  crowd  of  shepherds  came  together  in 
France,  saying  that  they  would  cross  the  sea  to  kill  the  Saracens 
and  free  the  King  of  France.  Many  followed  from  divers  cities  of 
France,  and  no  one  dared  stop  them.  For  their  leader  said  it 
was  revealed  to  him  of  God  that  he  must  lead  that  multitude 
across  the  sea  to  avenge  the  King  of  France.  The  common  folk 
believed  him,  and  were  enraged  against  the  religious,  especially 
the  Preachers,  because  they  had  preached  the  Crusade  and  had 
‘crossed’  men  who  were  sailing  with  the  king.  And  the  people 
were  angry  at  Christ,  so  that  they  dared  blaspheme  His  blessed 
name.  And  when  the  Minorites  and  Preachers  came  seeking 
alms  in  His  name,  they  gnashed  their  teeth  at  them  and  in  their 
sight  turned  and  gave  the  sou  to  some  other  beggar,  saying,  ‘Take 
this  in  Mahomet’s  name,  who  is  stronger  than  Christ.’  ” 2 

1 Cf.  Joinville’s  account,  post,  p.  562.  2 P.  225,  Parma  ed. 


532 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  III 


Of  those  Italian  wars — rather  feuds,  vengeances,  and 
monstrosities  of  hate — Salimbene  can  tell  enough.  He 
gives  a ghastly  picture  of  the  fate  of  Alberic  da  Romano, 
brother  of  Eccelino,  and  tyrant  indeed  of  Treviso. 

“There  he  lorded  it  for  many  years;  and  cruel  and  hard  was 
his  rule,  as  those  know  who  experienced  it.  He  was  a limb  of  the 
devil  and  a son  of  iniquity,  but  he  perished  by  an  evil  death  with 
his  wife  and  sons  and  daughters.  For  those  who  slew  them  tore 
off  the  legs  and  arms  from  their  living  bodies,  in  their  parents’ 
sight,  and  with  them  struck  the  parents’  faces.  Then  they  bound 
the  wife  and  daughters  to  stakes,  and  burned  them;  they  were 
noble,  beautiful  virgins,  nor  in  any  way  in  fault.  But  their 
innocence  and  beauty  did  not  save  them,  because  of  the  hatred 
for  the  father  and  mother.  Terribly  had  these  afflicted  the  people 
of  Treviso.  So  they  came  upon  Alberic  with  tongs  and ” — 

the  sentence  is  too  horrid  for  translation.  But  the 
chronicler  goes  on  to  tell  that  they  destroyed  his  body 
amid  gibes  and  insults  and  torments. 

“For  he  had  killed  a blood-relative  of  this  one,  and  that  one’s 
father,  son  or  daughter.  And  he  had  laid  such  taxes  and  exac- 
tions on  them,  that  they  had  to  destroy  their  houses.  The  very 
walls  and  beams  and  chests  and  cupboards  and  wine-vats  they 
put  in  boats  and  sent  to  Ferrara  to  sell  them  and  redeem  them- 
selves. I saw  those  with  my  eyes.  Alberic  pretended  to  be  at 
war  with  his  brother  Eccelino,  so  as  to  do  his  evil  deeds  more 
safely ; and  he  did  not  hold  his  hand  from  the  slaughter  of  citizens 
and  subjects.  One  day  he  hanged  twenty-five  prominent  men 
of  Treviso,  who  had  done  him  no  ill;  because  he  feared  they 
would ! And  thirty  noble  women,  mothers,  wives  and  daughters 
of  these,  were  brought  there  to  see  them  hanging;  and  he  had 
these  women  stripped  half  naked,  that  those  who  were  hanging 
might  see  them  so.  The  men  were  hanged  quite  close  to  the 
ground;  and  he  forced  these  women  to  go  so  close  that  their 
faces  were  struck  by  the  legs  and  feet  of  those  who  were  dying  in 
anguish.”  1 

Such  was  the  kind  of  devil-madness  that  might  walk 
abroad  in  Italy  in  the  Middle  Ages.  Let  us  relieve  our 
minds  by  a story  our  friend  tells  of  a certain  boy  placed  in 
a Franciscan  convent  in  Bologna,  to  become  a monk. 


Pp.  i7g,  i8o,  Parma  ed. ; Mon.  Germ.  pp.  363  sqq. 


chap,  xxii  THE  WORLD  OF  SALIMBENE 


533 


“When  asleep  he  snored  so  mightily,  that  no  one  could  have 
peace  in  the  same  house  with  him,  so  horribly  did  he  disturb  those 
who  slept  as  well  as  those  who  were  at  their  vigils.  And  they  made 
him  sleep  in  the  shed  where  wood  and  staves  were  stored,  but  even 
then  the  brothers  could  not  escape,  so  did  that  voice  of  malediction 
resound  through  the  whole  place.  And  all  the  priests  and  wise- 
acres among  the  brothers  met  in  the  director’s  chamber,  to  eject 
him  from  the  Order  because  of  his  insupportable  offence:  I was 
there.  It  was  decided  to  return  him  to  his  mother,  who  had 
deceived  the  Order,  since  she  had  known  his  defect  before  letting 
him  go.  But  he  was  not  returned  to  his  mother,  for  the  Lord 
performed  a miracle  through  Brother  Nicolas  [a  holy  brother 
through  whom  God  had  worked  other  miracles  as  well].  This 
brother  seeing  that  the  boy  was  to  be  expelled  for  no  fault,  but 
for  a natural  defect,  called  him  at  daybreak  to  assist  at  mass. 
When  the  mass  was  finished,  the  boy  as  commanded  knelt  before 
him,  back  of  the  altar,  hoping  to  receive  some  grace.  Brother 
Nicolas  touched  his  face  and  nose  with  his  hands,  in  the  wish  to 
confer  health  upon  him,  if  the  Lord  would  grant  it,  and  com- 
manded him  to  keep  this  secret.  What  more?  The  boy  at  once 
was  cured,  and  after  that  slept  as  quietly  as  a dormouse  without 
annoying  any  brother.”  1 

Thus  we  have  this  Chronicle,  rambling,  incoherent, 
picturesque,  with  its  glimpses  of  all  this  pretty  world,  for 
which  our  Salimbene,  despite  his  cowl,  has  an  uncloistered 
eye — its  keenness  for  incident  and  circumstance  undeflected 
by  the  inner  sight  with  which  it  could  also  look  on  the 
invisible  world.  When  Brother  Salimbene  was  young  and 
an  enthusiastic  Joachite,  a strong  motive  of  his  wish  to  live 
on  in  the  flesh  was  to  see  whether  those  prophecies  regarding 
Frederick  came  true.  Alas ! for  this  purpose  he  lived  too 
long : Frederick  died  before  the  prophecies  were  fulfilled, 
and  with  his  death  honest  Salimbene  had  to  put  from  him  his 
darling  trust  in  the  words  of  Abbot  Joachim. 


1 P.  324,  Parma  ed. ; p.  558,  Mon.  Germ. 


BOOK  IV 

THE  IDEAL  AND  THE  ACTUAL 
SOCIETY 


535 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD 

Feudal  and  Christian  Origin  of  Knightly  Virtue;  the 
Order  of  the  Temple;  Godfrey  of  Bouillon;  St.  Louis; 
Froissart’s  Chronicles 

The  world  is  evil ! the  clergy  corrupt,  the  laity  depraved ! 
none  denounces  them  ! Awake  ! arise  ! be  mindful ! Such 
ceaseless  cry  rises  more  shrilly  in  times  of  reform  and 
progress.  It  was  the  cry  of  the  preacher  in  the  twelfth  and 
thirteenth  centuries,  when  preaching  was  reviving  with  the 
general  advance  of  life.1 

Satire  and  pious  invective  struck  at  all  classes : kings, 
counts  and  knights,  merchants,  tradesmen,  artisans,  even 
villain-serfs,  came  under  its  lash.2  And  properly,  since 
every  class  is  touched  with  universal  human  vices,  besides 
those  which  are  more  peculiar  to  its  special  way  of  life. 
All  men  fall  below  the  standards  of  the  time ; and  each 
class  fails  with  respect  to  its  own  ideals.  The  special  short- 
comings are  most  apparent  with  those  classes  whose  ideals 
are  most  definitely  formulated. 

1 See  Bourgain,  La  Chair e franqaise  au  X I Ie  siecle;  Lecoy  de  la  Marche,  La  Chaire 
franqaise  au  XIIIe  siecle. 

2 Certain  kinds  of  literature,  in  nature  satirical  or  merely  gross,  portray, 
doubtless  with  grotesque  exaggeration,  the  ways  and  manners  of  clerks  and 
merchants,  craftsmen  and  vile  serfs,  as  well  as  those  of  monks  and  bishops,  lords 
and  ladies.  A notable  example  is  offered  by  the  old  French  fabliaux,  which  with 
coarse  and  heartless  laughter,  rather  than  with  any  definite  satirical  intent, 
display  the  harshness,  brutality,  the  degradation  and  hardship  of  the  ways  of 
living  coming  within  their  range  of  interest.  In  them  we  see  the  brutal  and 
deceived  husband,  the  wily  clerk,  the  merchant  with  his  tricks  of  trade,  the  vilain, 
raised  above  the  brute,  not  by  a better  way  of  life  as  much  as  by  a certain  native  wit. 
The  women  were  reviled  as  coarsely  as  in  monkish  writings ; but  a Rabelaisian  quality 
takes  the  place  of  doctrinal  prurience.  In  weighing  the  evidence  of  these  fabliaux 
their  satirical  nature  should  be  allowed  for.  Cf.  Langlois,  La  Vie  en  France  au  moyen 
Age  d’apres  quelques  moralisles  du  temps  (Paris,  1908) ; also  the  Sermons  of  Jacques  de 
Vitry;  Pitra,  Analecta  novissima  spicilegii  Solesmensis,  t.  ii.,  and  Haureau  upon  the 
same  in  Journal  des  savants,  1888,  p.  4x0  sqq. 

537 


538 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


Among  the  laity  the  gap  between  the  ideal  and  the 
actual  may  best  be  observed  in  the  warrior  class  whose 
ideals  accorded  with  the  feudal  situation  and  tended  to 
express  themselves  in  chivalry.  Not  that  knights  and 
ladies  were  better  or  worse  than  other  mediaeval  men  and 
women.  But  literature  contains  clearer  statements  of  their 
ideals.  The  knightly  virtues  range  before  us  as  distinctly 
as  the  monastic ; and  harsh  is  the  contrast  between  the 
character  they  outline  and  the  feudal  actuality  of  cruelty 
and  greed  and  lust.  Feudalism  itself  presents  everywhere 
a state  of  contrast  between  its  principles  of  mutual  fidelity 
and  protection,  and  its  actuality  of  oppression,  revolt,  and 
private  war. 

The  feudal  system  was  a sprawling  conglomerate  fact. 
The  actual  usages  of  chivalry  (the  term  is  loose  and  must 
be  allowed  gradually  to  define  itself)  were  one  expression  of 
it,  and  varied  with  the  period  and  country.  But  chivalry 
had  its  home  also  in  the  imagination,  and  its  most  interesting 
media  are  legend  and  romantic  fiction.  Still,  much  that 
was  romantic  in  it  sprang  from  the  aggregate  of  law, 
custom,  and  sentiment,  which  held  feudal  society  together. 
Chivalry  was  the  fine  flower  of  honour  growing  from  this 
soil,  embosomed  in  an  abundant  leafage  of  imagination. 

The  feudal  system  was  founded  on  relations  and 
sentiments  arising  from  a state  of  turbulence  where  every 
man  needed  the  protection  of  a lord : it  could  not  fail  to 
foster  sentiments  of  fealty.  The  fief  itself,  the  feudal  unit 
of  land  held  on  condition  of  homage  and  service,  symbolized 
the  principle  of  mutual  troth  between  lord  and  vassal.  The 
land  was  part  of  mother  earth ; the  troth,  the  elemental 
personal  tie,  existed  from  of  yore.  In  this  instance  it  came 
from  the  German  forests.  But  the  feudal  system  of  land 
tenure  also  stretched  its  roots  back  into  the  rural  institutions 
of  the  disintegrating  Roman  Empire.  In  the  fifth  century, 
for  example,  when  what  was  left  of  the  imperial  rule  could 
no  longer  enforce  order,  and  provincial  governments  were 
decaying  with  the  decay  of  the  central  power  from  which 
they  drew  their  fife,  men  had  to  look  about  them  for  pro- 
tection. It  became  customary  for  men  to  hand  over  land 
and  liberty  to  some  near  lord,  and  enter  into  a relationship 


chap,  xxiii  FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD  539 


akin  to  serfage  in  return  for  protection.  Thus  the  Gallo- 
Roman  population  were  becoming  accustomed  to  personal 
dependence  even  while  the  Merovingians  were  establishing 
their  kingdom. 

On  their  side  the  Franks  and  other  Teutons  had  inherited 
the  institution  of  the  comitatus,  which  bound  the  young 
warrior  to  his  chief.  They  were  familiar  with  exacting 
modes  of  personal  retainership,  which  merged  the  follower’s 
freedom  in  his  lord’s  will.  If  during  the  reigns  of  Pepin 
and  his  prodigious  son  the  development  of  local  dominion 
and  dependence  was  held  in  some  abeyance,  on  the  death  of 
Charlemagne  it  would  proceed  apace.  All  the  factors  which 
tend  to  make  institutions  out  of  abuses  and  the  infractions 
of  earlier  custom,  sprang  at  once  into  activity  in  the  renewed 
confusion.  Everything  served  to  increase  the  lesser  man’s 
need  of  defence,  weld  his  dependence  on  his  lord,  and 
augment  the  latter’s  power.  Moreover,  long  before  Charle- 
magne’s time,  not  only  for  protection  in  this  life,  but  for 
the  sake  of  their  souls,  men  had  been  granting  their  lands 
to  monasteries  and  receiving  back  the  use  thereof — such 
usufruct  being  known  as  a beneficiuw.  This  custom  lent  the 
force  of  its  example  and  manifest  utility  to  the  relations 
between  lay  lords  and  tenants.  And  finally  one  notes  the 
frequent  grant  to  monasteries  and  individuals  of  immunity 
from  governmental  visitation,  a grant  preventing  the  king’s 
officers  from  entering  lands  in  order  to  exercise  the  king’s 
justice,  or  exact  fines  and  requisitions.1 

From  out  of  such  conditions  the  feudal  system  gradually 
took  form.  Its  central  feature  was  the  tenure  of  a fief  by  a 
vassal  from  his  lord  on  condition  of  rendering  faithful 
military  and  other  not  ignoble  service.  By  the  tenth  century 
fiefs  had  become  hereditary.  So  long  as  the  vassal  fulfilled 
his  duty  to  his  lord,  the  rights  of  the  lord  over  the  land  were 
nominal ; more  substantial  was  the  mutual  obligation — - 
on  the  part  of  the  lord  to  protect  his  vassal  against  the 
violence  of  others,  and  on  the  vassal’s  part  to  make  good  the 
homage  pledged  by  him  when  he  knelt  and  placed  his  hands 
within  his  lord’s  hands  and  vowed  himself  his  lord’s  man 

1 Such  immunities  were  common  before  Charlemagne.  Cf.  Brunner,  Deutsche 
Rechtsgeschichte,  ii.  243-302. 


540 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


for  the  fief  he  held.  His  duty  was  to  aid  his  lord  against 
enemies,  yield  him  counsel  and  assistance  in  the  judgment 
of  causes,  and  pay  money  to  ransom  him  from  captivity, 
knight  his  eldest  son,  or  portion  his  daughter.  The 
ramifications  of  these  feudal  tenures  and  obligations  ex- 
tended, with  all  manner  of  complications,  from  king  and 
duke  down  to  such  as  held  the  meagre  fief  that  barely  kept 
man  and  war-horse  from  degrading  labour.  All  these  made 
up  the  feudal  class  whose  members  might  expect  to  become 
knights  on  reaching  manhood. 

Neither  this  system  of  land  tenure,  nor  the  sentiments 
and  relations  sustaining  it,  drew  their  origin  from  Christianity. 
But  the  Church  was  mighty  in  its  influence  over  the  secular 
relationship  of  those  who  came  under  its  spiritual  guidance. 
Feudal  troth  was  to  become  Christianized.  The  old  regard 
for  war-chief  and  war-comrade  was  to  be  broadened  through 
the  Faith’s  solicitude  for  all  believers ; then  it  was  raised 
above  the  human  sphere  to  fealty  toward  God  and  His 
Church;  and  thereupon  it  was  gentled  through  Christian 
meekness  and  mercy. 

This  Christianized  spirit  of  fealty,  broadening  to 
courtesy  and  pity,  was  to  take  visible  form  in  a universal 
Order  into  which  members  of  the  feudal  class  were  admitted 
when  their  valour  had  been  proved,  and  into  which  brave 
deeds  might  bring  even  a low-born  man.  Gradually,  as  the 
Order’s  regula,  a code  of  knighthood’s  honour  was  developed, 
valid  in  its  fundamentals  throughout  western  Christendom; 
but  varying  details  and  changing  fancies  from  time  to 
time  intruded,  just  as  subsequent  phases  of  monastic 
development  were  grafted  on  the  common  Benedictine 
rule. 

Investing  a young  warrior  with  the  arms  of  manhood 
has  always  in  fighting  communities  been  the  normal 
ceremony  of  the  youth’s  coming  of  age  and  his  recognition 
as  a member  of  the  clan.  The  binding  on  of  the  young 
Teuton’s  sword  in  the  assembly  of  his  people  was  an 
historical  antecedent  of  the  making  of  a knight.  In  all  the 
lands  of  western  Europe — France,  Germany,  Anglo-Saxon 
England,  Lombard  Italy,  and  Visigothic  Spain — this 
ceremony  appears  to  have  remained  a simple  one  through 


chap,  xxiii  FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD  541 


the  ninth  and  tenth  centuries.  As  for  the  eleventh,  one 
may  note  the  following  passages : William  of  Malmesbury 
(d.  1142  cir.)  speaks  of  William  of  Normandy  receiving  the 
insignia  of  knighthood  ( militiae  insignia)  from  the  King 
of  France  as  soon  as  his  years  permitted.1  Henry  of 
Huntington  (d.  1155)  says  that  this  same  William  the 
Conqueror,  in  the  nineteenth  year  of  his  reign,  invested  his 
younger  son  Henry  with  the  arms  of  manhood  ( virilibus 
induit  armis ) ; while  another  chronicler  says  that  Prince 
Henry:  “sumpsit  arma  in  Pentecostem” — a festival  at 
which  it  was  customary  to  make  knights.  And  again, 
Ordericus  Vitalis  says  of  the  armour-bearer  of  Duke  William 
that  after  five  years’  service  he  was  by  that  same  duke 
regularly  invested  with  his  arms  and  made  a knight  (< decenter 
est  armis  adornatus  et  miles  effectus). 

These  short  references 2 do  not  indicate  the  nature  of 
the  ceremony.  But  one  notes  the  use  of  the  Latin  words 
miles  and  militia  as  meaning  knight  and  knighthood.  Like 
so  many  other  classical  words,  miles  took  various  meanings 
in  the  Middle  Ages.  But  it  came  commonly  to  signify 
knight,  chevalier,  or  ritter.3  And  whatever  other  meanings 
militia  and  militare  retained  or  acquired,  they  signified 
knighthood  and  the  performance  of  its  duties.  Frequently 
they  suggested  the  relationship  of  vassal  to  a lord : and  in 
this  sense  miles  meant  one  who  held  a fief  under  the 
obligation  to  do  knightly  service  in  return. 

But  how  did  this  word  miles  (which  in  classical  Latin 
meant  a soldier  and  sometimes  specifically  a foot-soldier  as 
contrasted  with  an  eques)  come  to  mean  a knight?  It  was 
first  applied  to  the  warriors  of  the  various  Teutonic  peoples, 
who  for  the  most  part  fought  on  foot.  But  the  wars  with 
the  Saracens  in  the  eighth  century  appear  to  have  made 
clear  the  need  of  a large  and  efficient  corps  of  horse.  From 
the  time  of  Charles  Martel  the  warrior  class  began  to  fight 
regularly  on  horseback ; 4 and  thus,  apparently,  the  term 
miles  began  to  signify  primarily  one  of  these  tried  and  well- 

1 Gesta  return  Anglorum,  iii.  (Migne  179,  col.  1213). 

2 Taken  from  the  note  to  p.  274  of  Gautier’s  Chevalerie. 

3 See  Du  Cange,  Glossarium,  under  “Miles,”  etc.;  where  much  information 
may  be  found  uncritically  put  together. 

4 Cf.  Brunner,  Deutsche  Rechtsgeschichte,  ii.  202-216. 


542 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


armed  riders.1  Such  were  the  very  ones  who  would 
regularly  be  invested  with  their  arms  on  reaching  manhood. 
Many  of  them  had  inherited  the  sentiments  of  fealty  to  a 
chief,  and  probably  were  vassals  of  some  lord  from  whom 
they  had  received  lands  to  be  held  on  military  tenure. 
They  were  not  all  noble  (an  utterly  loose  term  with 
reference  to  these  early  confused  centuries)  nor  were  they 
necessarily  free  (another  inappropriate  term  with  respect  to 
these  incipiently  mediaeval  social  conditions).2  But  their 
mainly  military  duties  would  naturally  develop  into  a 
retainer’s  relationship  of  fealty. 

The  ninth  century  passes  into  the  tenth,  the  tenth  into 
the  eleventh,  the  eleventh  into  the  twelfth.  Classes  and 
orders  of  society  become  more  distinct.  The  old  warrior 
groups  have  become  lords  and  vassals,  and  compose  the 
feudal  class  whose  members  upon  maturity  are  formally  girt 
with  the  arms  of  manhood,  and  thereupon  become  knights. 
The  ceremony  of  their  investiture  has  been  gradually  made 
more  impressive;  it  has  also  been  imbued  with  religious 
sentiment  and  elaborated  with  religious  rite.  It  now 
constitutes  the  initiation  to  a universally  recognized  fighting 
Order  which  has  its  knightly  code  of  honour,  if  not  its 
knightly  duties.  In  a word,  along  with  the  clearer  deter- 
mination of  its  membership,  and  the  elaboration  of  the 
ceremonies  of  entry  or  “adoubement,”  knighthood  has 
become  a distinct  conception  and  has  attained  existence  as 
an  Order.  And  an  Order  it  remains,  into  which  one  is 
admitted,  but  into  which  no  one  is  born,  though  he  be 
hereditary  king  or  duke  or  count.  Moreover,  although  the 


1 The  way  that  miles  came  to  mean  knight  has  its  analogy  in  the  etymological 
history  of  the  word  “knight”  itself.  In  German  and  French  the  words  “Ritter” 
and  “chevalier”  indicate  one  who  fought  on  horseback.  Not  so  with  the  English 
word  “knight,”  which  in  its  original  Anglo-Saxon  and  Old-German  forms  (see  Murray’s 
Dictionary)  as  cniht  and  kneht  might  mean  any  armed  follower.  It  lost  its  servile 
sense  slowly.  “In  1086  we  read  that  the  Conqueror  dubbade  his  sunu  Henric  to  rider e ; 
this  ...  is  the  next  year  Englished  by  cniht ” (Kington-Oliphant,  Old  and  Middle 
English,  p.  130;  Macmillan,  1878). 

2 We  naturally  use  the  term  “free”  with  reference  to  modern  conditions, 
where  law  and  its  sanctions  emanate,  in  fact  as  well  as  theory,  from  a stable 
government.  But  in  these  early  feudal  periods  where  a man’s  life  and  property  were 
in  fact  and  theory  protected  by  the  power  of  his  immediate  lord,  to  whom  he  was  bound 
by  the  strongest  ties  then  recognized,  to  be  “free”  might  be  very  close  to  being  an 
unprotected  outlaw. 


chap,  xxm  FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD  543 


candidates  normally  would  be  of  the  feudal  class,  the  Order 
is  not  closed  against  knightly  merit  in  whomsoever  found.1 
Of  course  there  was  no  written  regula  or  charter,  except  of 
certain  special  Orders.  Yet  there  was  no  uncertainty  as  to 
who  was  or  was  not  a knight. 

A knight  could  be  “made”  or  “dubbed”  at  any  time, 
for  example,  on  the  field  of  battle  or  before  the  fight.  But 
certain  festivals  of  the  Church — Christmas,  Easter,  and 
Pentecost — came  to  be  regarded  as  peculiarly  appropriate  for 
the  ceremony.  Any  knight,  but  no  unknighted  person 
however  high  his  rank,  could  “dub”  another  knight.2  This 
appears  to  have  been  the  universal  rule,  and  yet  it  suffered 
infringements.  For  example,  at  a late  period  a king  might 
claim  the  right  to  confirm  the  bestowal  of  knighthood,  which 
in  fact  commonly  was  bestowed  by  a great  lord  or  sovereign 
prince.  On  its  negative  side,  the  general  rule  may  be  said 
to  have  been  infringed  when  Church  dignitaries,  no  longer 
content  with  blessing  the  arms  of  the  young  warrior,  usurped 
the  secular  privilege  of  investing  him  with  them  and  dubbing 
him  a knight.3 

The  ceremony  itself  probably  originated  in  the  girding 
on  of  the  sword.  As  these  warriors  in  time  changed  to 
mounted  riders  with  elaborate  arms  and  armour,  it  became 
more  of  an  affair  to  invest  them  fully  with  their  equipment. 
There  would  be  the  putting  on  of  helm  and  coat  of  mail, 
and  there  would  be  the  binding  on  of  spurs;  and  at  some 
time  it  became  customary  for  the  youth  to  prepare  himself 
by  a bath.  But  girding  on  the  sword  was  still  the  important 
point,  although  perhaps  the  somewhat  enigmatical  blow, 
given  by  him  who  conferred  the  dignity,  and  not  to  be 
returned  ( non  repercutiendus) , became  the  finish  to  the 
ceremony.  That  blow  existed  (we  find  it  in  the  Chansons 
de  geste ) in  the  twelfth  century  as  a thwack  with  the  fist 
on  the  young  man’s  bare  neck;  then  in  course  of  years 


1 In  these  respects  it  exhibits  analogies  to  monkhood,  which  likewise  was  re- 
cruited commonly  from  the  upper  classes  of  society. 

2 See  Gautier,  La  Chevalerie,  p.  256  sqq.  ; Du  Cange,  under  the  word 
“Miles.” 

3 Cf.  Gautier,  o.c.  296-308.  It  must  be  remembered  that  an  abbot  or  a bishop 
might  also  be  a knight  and  so  could  make  knights.  See  Du  Cange,  Glossarium,  “ Abbas  ’’ 
(1 abbates  miletes). 


544 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


it  refined  itself  into  a gentle  sword-tap  on  the  mailed 
shoulder.1 

At  an  early  period  the  Church  sought  to  sanctify  the 
ceremony  through  religious  rites;  for  it  could  not  remain 
unconcerned  with  the  consecration  of  the  warriors  of 
Christendom,  whose  services  were  needed  and  whose  souls 
were  to  be  saved.  What  time  so  apt  for  inculcating 
obedience  and  other  Christian  virtues  as  this  solemn  hour 
when  the  young  warrior’s  nature  was  stirred  with  the  pride 
and  hopes  of  knighthood?  And  the  young  knight  needed 
the  Church’s  blessing.  Heathen  peoples  sought  in  every 
enterprise  the  protection  of  their  gods,  usually  obtained 
through  priestly  magic.  And  when  converted  to  the  faith 
of  Christ,  should  they  not  call  on  Him  who  was  mightier 
than  Odin?  Should  not  His  power  be  invoked  to  shield  the 
Christian  knight?  Will  not  the  sword  which  the  priest  has 
blessed  and  has  laid  upon  Christ’s  miracle-working  altar, 
more  surely  guard  the  wearer’s  life?  Better  still  if  there  be 
blessed  relics  in  its  hilt.  The  dying  Roland  speaks  to  his 
great  sword  : 

“O  Durendel  cum  ies  bele  et  seintisme !” 

“O  Durendel  how  art  thou  fair  and  holy!  In  thy  hilt 
what  store  of  relics : tooth  of  St.  Peter,  blood  of  St.  Basil, 
hairs  of  my  lord  St.  Denis,  cloth  worn  by  the  Holy  Mary.”  2 
These  relics  made  the  “holiness”  of  that  sword,  not  in  the 
way  of  sentiment,  but  through  their  magic  power.  And  we 
shall  not  be  thinking  in  mediaeval  categories  if  we  lose  sight 
of  the  magic-religious  effect  of  the  priest’s  blessing  on  the 
novice’s  sword  : it  is  a protection  for  the  future  knight. 

Doubtless  the  religious  features  of  the  “adoubement” 
revert  to  various  epochs.  The  ancient  watch-nights  pre- 
ceding Easter  and  Pentecost,  followed  at  daybreak  by  the 
baptism  of  white-robed  catechumens,  may  have  been  the 
original  of  the  novice’s  night  vigil  over  his  arms  laid  by  the 
altar.  His  bath  had  become  a symbol  of  purification  from 

1 On  this  blow,  called  in  Latin  alapa,  in  French  accolee,  in  English  accolade,  see 
Du  Cange  under  “Alapa,”  and  Gautier,  o.c.  pp.  246-247,  and  270  sqq. 

2 Chanson  de  Roland,  2344  sqq.  Lines  2500-2510  speak  of  Charlemagne’s  sword, 
named  Joiuse  because  of  the  honour  it  had  in  having  in  its  hilt  the  iron  of  the  lance 
which  pierced  the  Saviour. 


chap,  xxiii  FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD  545 


sin.  He  heard  Mass  in  the  early  morning,  and  then  came 
the  blessing  of  the  sword,  the  benedictio  ensis , of  which  the 
oldest  extant  formula  is  found  in  a Roman  manuscript  of 
the  early  eleventh  century:  “Exaudi,  quaeso,  Domine, 
preces  nostras,  et  hunc  ensem  quo  hie  famulus  N.  se  circum- 
cingi  desiderat,  majestatis  tuae  dextera  benedicere  dignare.”  1 

Through  the  Middle  Ages  the  fashions  of  feudalism  did 
not  remain  unchanged ; likewise  its  quintessential  spirit, 
chivalry,  was  modified,  and  one  may  say,  between  the  ninth 
and  the  fourteenth  centuries,  passed  from  barbarism  to 
preciosity.  Nevertheless  the  main  ideals  of  chivalry  endured, 
springing  as  they  did  from  the  fundamental  and  but  slowly- 
changing  conditions  of  feudal  society.  Since  that  society 
was  constantly  at  war,2  the  first  virtue  of  the  knight  was 
valour.  Next,  since  life  and  property  hung  on  mutual  aid 
and  troth,  and  a larger  safety  was  ensured  if  one  lord  could 
rely  upon  his  neighbour’s  word,  the  virtues  of  truth-speaking 
and  troth-keeping  took  their  places  in  the  chivalric  ideal. 
Another  useful  quality,  and  means  of  winning  men,  was 
generosity  {largesse).  When  coin  is  scarce,  and  stipulations 
for  fixed  pay  unusual,  he  who  serves  looks  for  liberality, 
which,  in  accordance  with  feudal  conditions,  made  the  third 
of  the  chief  knightly  virtues. 

Valour,  troth,  largesse,  had  no  necessary  connection 
with  Christianity.  It  was  otherwise  with  certain  of  the 


1 Gautier,  Chevalerie,  pp.  290,  297.  Examples  of  these  ceremonies  may 

be  found  as  follows : the  actual  one  of  the  knighting  of  Geoffrey  Plantagenet 
of  Anjou  by  Henry  I.  of  England,  at  Rouen  in  1129,  in  the  Chronicle  of  Johannis 
Turonensis,  Historiens  de  France , xii.  p.  520;  Gautier,  Chevalerie,  p.  275.  Gautier 
gives  many  examples,  and  puts  together  a typical  ceremony,  as  of  the  twelfth 
century,  in  Chev.  p.  309  sqq.  Perhaps  the  most  famous  account  of  all  is  that  of 
the  poem  entitled  Ordene  de  Chevalerie  (thirteenth  century),  published  by  Barbazan, 
Fabliaux,  etc.,  i.  59-82  (Paris,  1808).  It  relates  how  a captive  Christian  knight  be- 
stowed the  order  of  chivalry,  i.e.  knighthood,  upon  Saladin.  See  other  accounts  cited 
in  Du  Cange  under  “Miles.” 

2 Not  war  as  we  understand  it,  where  with  some  large  purpose  one  great 
cohesive  state  directs  its  total  military  power  against  another;  but  neighbourhood 
war,  never  permanently  ended.  When  not  actually  attacking  or  defending,  men 
were  anticipating  attack,  or  expecting  to  make  a raid.  Perhaps  nothing  better 
suggests  the  local  and  neighbourly  character  of  these  feudal  hostilities  than  the 
most  famous  means  devised  by  the  Church  to  mitigate  them.  This  was  the 
“Truce  of  God,”  promulgated  in  the  eleventh  century.  It  forbade  hostilities 
from  Thursday  to  Monday  and  in  certain  holy  seasons  of  the  year.  Whether  this 
ordinance  was  effective  or  not,  it  indicates  the  nature  of  the  wars  that  could  stop  from 
Thursday  to  Monday! 


546 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


remaining  qualities  of  a knight.  According  to  Christian 
teaching,  pride  was  the  deadliest  of  sins.  So  haughtiness, 
boasting,  and  vain-glory  were  to  be  held  vices  by  the 
Christian  knight.  He  should  show  a humble  demeanour, 
save  toward  the  mortal  enemies  of  God ; and  far  from 
boasting,  he  should  rather  depreciate  himself  and  his 
explcits,  though  never  lowering  the  standard  of  his  purpose 
to  achieve.  Humility  entered  knighthood’s  ideal  from 
Christianity;  and  so  perhaps  did  courtesy,  its  kin,  a virtue 
which  was  not  among  the  earliest  to  enter  knighthood’s 
ideal,  and  yet  reached  universal  recognition. 

Christianity  also  meant  active  charity,  beneficence,  and 
love  of  neighbour.  These  are  virtues  hard  to  import  into  a 
state  of  war.  Fighting  means  harm-doing  to  an  enemy; 
and  only  indirectly  makes  for  some  one’s  good.  Let  there 
be  some  vindication  of  good  in  the  fighting  of  a Christian 
knight : he  shall  be  quick  to  right  the  wrong,  succour 
distress,  and  quickest  to  bear  help  where  no  reward  can 
come.  Since  knighthood’s  ideals  took  form  in  crusading 
times,  the  slaughter  of  the  Paynim  became  the  supreme  act 
of  knightly  warfare. 

If  such  elements  of  the  knightly  ideal  were  of  Christian 
origin,  others  still  were  even  more  closely  part  of  mediaeval 
Christianity.  First  of  these  was  faith,  orthodox  faith, 
heresy-uprooting,  infidel-destroying,  fides  in  the  full  Church 
sense.  Without  faith’s  sacramental  credentials — baptism, 
participation  in  the  mass — no  one  could  be  a knight : and 
heresy  degrades  the  recreant  even  before  the  scullion’s 
cleaver  hacks  off  his  spurs. 

From  faith  knighthood  advances  to  obedience  to  the 
Church,  a vow  expressly  made  by  every  knight  on  taking 
the  Cross,  and  also  incorporated  in  the  Constitutions  of  the 
crusading  Orders  of  Templars  and  Hospitallers.  But  does 
the  knight  pass  on  from  obedience  to  chastity?  This  virtue 
might  or  might  not  enter  knighthood’s  ideal.  It  scarcely 
could  exist  with  courtly  or  chivalric  love ; 1 and,  in  fact, 
knights  commonly  were  either  lovers  or  married  men — or 

1 Courtly,  chivalric,  or  romantic,  love  as  an  element  of  knightly  excellence  is 
so  inseverably  connected  with  its  romantic  literature  that  I have  kept  it  for  the  next 
chapter. 


chap,  xxiii  FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD  547 


both.  Yet  even  in  the  Arthurian  literature  there  is  the 
monkish  Galahad,  and  many  a sinful  knight  becomes  a 
hermit  in  the  end ; and  among  real  and  living  knights,  the 
Templars  and  Hospitallers  were  vowed  to  celibacy.  In 
these  crusading  orders  the  orbits  of  knighthood  and 
monasticism  cross ; and  it  will  not  be  altogether  a digression 
to  review  the  foundation  and  constitution  of  one  of  them. 

The  Order  of  the  Temple  was  founded  in  the  year  1118 
by  Hugh  of  Payns  (Champagne)  and  other  French  knights ; 
who  placed  their  hands  within  those  of  the  Patriarch  of 
Jerusalem,  and  vowed  to  devote  themselves  to  the  protection 
of  pilgrims  in  the  Holy  Land.  Probably  they  also  bestowed 
their  lands  for  the  support  of  the  nascent  Order.  Ten 
years  afterwards  Hugh  passed  through  France  and  England, 
winning  new  recruits  and  appearing  at  the  Council  of 
Troyes.  With  the  authority  of  that  Council  and  of  Pope 
Honorius  II.  the  Regula  pauper um  commilitonum  Christi 
Templique  Salomonici  was  promulgated.  St.  Bernard,  to 
whom  it  is  ascribed,  was  in  large  part  its  inspiration  and  its 
author.  It  still  exists  in  some  seventy-two  chapters ; but 
one  cannot  distinguish  between  those  belonging  to  the 
original  document  of  1128  and  those  added  somewhat 
later.1 

This  regula  with  its  amendments  and  additions  was 
translated  from  Latin  into  Old  French  ( par  excellence  the 
tongue  of  the  Crusades),  and  became  apparently  the  earliest 
form  of  the  Regie  dou  Temple , upon  which  was  grafted  a 
mass  of  ordinances  ( retrais  et  establis semens) . Apparently 
the  whole  of  the  extant  Latin  regula  was  prior  to  everything 
contained  in  the  French  regie;  and  accordingly  we  shall 
simply  regard  the  Latin  as  containing  the  earliest  regulations 
of  the  Temple,  and  the  French  as  exhibiting  the  modifica- 
tions of  tone  and  interest  which  came  in  the  course  of 
years. 

The  hand  of  St.  Bernard  ensured  the  dominance  of  the 
monastic  temper  in  the  original  regula;  and  Hugo,  the  first 
Master  of  the  Temple,  could  not  have  been  the  Saint’s  close 

1 The  following  remarks  upon  the  regula  of  the  Templars,  and  the  extracts  which 
are  given,  are  based  on  the  introduction  and  text  of  La  Regie  du  Temple,  edited  by  Henri 
de  Curzon  for  the  Societe  de  l’Histoire  de  France  (Paris,  1886). 


548 


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friend  without  sharing  his  enthusiasms.  So  the  prologue 
opens  with  a true  monastic  note  : 

“Our  word  is  directed  primarily  to  all  who  despise  their  own 
wills,  and  with  purity  of  mind  desire  to  serve  under  the  supreme 
and  veritable  King ; and  with  minds  intent  choose  the  noble 
warfare  of  obedience,  and  persevere  therein.  We  therefore  exhort 
you  who  until  now  have  embraced  secular  knighthood  ( miliciam 
secular em)  where  Christ  was  not  the  cause,  and  whom  God  in  His 
mercy  has  chosen  out  of  the  mass  of  perdition  for  the  defence 
of  the  holy  Church,  to  hasten  to  associate  yourselves  per- 
petually.” 

This  phraseology  would  suit  the  constitution  of  a sheer 
monastic  order.  And  the  first  chapter  exhorts  these  vene- 
rabiles  fratres  who  renounce  their  own  wills  and  serve  the 
King  (Christ)  with  horses  and  arms,  zealously  to  observe  all 
the  religious  services  regularly  prescribed  for  monks.  The 
regula  contains  the  usual  monastic  commands.  For  example, 
obedience  to  the  Master  of  the  Order  is  enjoined  sine  mora  as 
if  God  were  commanding,  which  recalls  the  language  of  St. 
Benedict.1  Clothes  are  regulated,  and  diet ; habitual  silence 
is  recommended ; the  brethren  are  not  to  go  alone,  nor  at 
their  own  will,  but  as  directed  by  the  Master,  so  as  to 
imitate  Him  who  said,  I came  not  to  do  mine  own  will,  but 
His  who  sent  me.2  Again,  chests  with  locks  are  forbidden 
the  brothers,  except  under  special  permission;  nor  may  any 
brother,  without  like  permission,  receive  letters  from  parents 
or  friends ; and  then  they  should  be  read  in  the  Master’s 
presence.3  Let  the  brethren  shun  idle  speech,  and  above  all 
let  no  brother  talk  with  another  of  military  exploits,  “follies 
rather,”  achieved  by  him  while  “in  the  world,”  or  of  his 
doings  with  miserable  women.4  Let  no  brother  hunt  with 
hawks ; such  mundane  delectations  do  not  befit  the  religious, 
who  should  be  rather  hearing  God’s  precepts,  and  at  prayer, 
or  confessing  their  sins  with  tears.  Yet  the  lion  may  always 
be  hunted  ; for  he  goes  seeking  whom  he  may  devour.5 

The  religio  professed  by  the  Templars  is  called,  in  the 
Latin  rule,  religio  militarise  which  the  French  translates 

1 The  phraseology  of  the  Latin  regula  often  follows  that  of  the  Benedictine 
rule.  2 Chaps.  33,  35. 

4 Chap.  42. 


Chaps.  40,  41. 


5 Chaps.  46,  48. 


chap,  xxiii  FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD  549 


“religion  de  chevalerie,”  not  incorrectly,  but  with  somewhat 
different  flavour.1 

“This  new  genus  religionis,  as  we  believe,  by  divine  providence 
began  with  you  in  the  Holy  Land,  a religio  in  which  you  mingle 
chivalry  (milicia).  Thus  this  armed  religion  may  advance 
through  chivalry,  and  smite  the  enemy  without  incurring  sin. 
Rightfully  then  we  decree  that  you  shall  be  called  knights  of  the 
Temple  ( milites  Templi)  and  may  hold  houses,  lands  and  men, 
and  possess  serfs  and  justly  rule  them.”  2 

The  pomp  of  the  last  sentence  seems  to  remove  from 
the  tone  of  the  earlier  chapters,  and  suggests  a later  date. 
Another,  possibly  late,  chapter  (66)  permits  the  knights  to 
receive  tithes,  since  they  have  abandoned  their  riches  for 
spontaneae  paupertati.  Still  another  accords  to  married 
men  a qualified  admission  to  the  brotherhood,  but  they  may 
not  wear  the  white  robe  and  mantle  (55).  The  next 
forbids  the  admission  of  sorores ; and  the  last  chapter  of  all 
(72)  warns  against  the  sight  of  women,  and  forbids  the 
brethren  to  kiss  one,  be  she  widow,  virgin,  mother,  sister  or 
friend. 

Thus  the  Latin  regula  formulates  an  order  of 

monasticism  with  only  the  modifications  imperatively 
demanded  by  the  exigencies  of  holy  warfare.  The  French 
regie  elaborates  the  military  organization  and  enhances  the 
chivalric  element.  This  begins  to  appear  in  the  portions 
which  are  a translation  (usually  quite  close)  of  the  Latin 
rule.  But  even  that  translation  makes  changes,  for  example, 
omitting  the  period  of  probation  required  in  the  Latin  text, 
before  admitting  a brother  to  the  Order.3  A striking 
change  was  made  by  the  later  French  ordinances  in  the 
interrogations  and  proceedings  for  admission.  The  Latin 
formula  begins  in  Cistercian  phrase  : 

“Vis  abrenunciare  seculo? 

“ Volo. 

“Vis  profited  obedientiam  secundum  canonicam  institutionem 
et  secundum  preceptum  domini  papae? 

1 Chap.  62  Latin  regula  and  chap.  14  of  French  regie. 

2 Chap.  51. 

3 Chap.  58  of  the  Latin,  chap.  11  of  the  French.  The  chapters  of  the  French 
translation  do  not  follow  the  order  of  the  Latin 


550 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


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“Volo. 

“Vis  assumere  tibi  conversationem  (the  monastic  mode  and 
change  of  life)  fratrum  nostrorum  ? 

“Volo.”1 

And  so  forth. 

The  substance  of  these  and  other  questions  was  retained 
in  the  far  longer  French  formula,  which  exacted  specific 
promises  of  compliance  with  all  the  Order’s  ordinances. 
But  far  removed  from  the  original  are  such  questions  as  the 
following:  “Biau  dous  amis”  (the  ordinary  phrase  of  the 
chivalric  romance)  have  you,  or  has  any  one  for  you,  made 
any  promise  to  any  one  in  return  for  his  aid  in  procuring 
your  admission,  which  would  be  simony?  “Estes  vos 
chevalier  et  fis  de  chevalier?” 

Is  the  candidate  a knight,  and  son  of  knight  and  lady,  and 
are  his  “peres  . . . de  lignage  de  chevaliers”?  This  means 
chivalry  and  gentle  blood ; and  if  the  candidate  answers  in 
the  negative,  he  cannot  be  admitted  as  a knight  of  the 
Temple,  although  he  may  be  as  “sergent,”  or  in  some  other 
character.  Most  noble  and  courtly  is  the  phrasing  of  these 
statutes.  Their  frequent  “Beaus  seignors  freres”  is  the 
address  proper  for  knights  rather  than  monks.2 

Usually  wherever  the  translation  of  the  Latin  regula 
ends,  the  Regie  dou  Temple  passes  on  to  provisions  meeting 
the  requirements  of  a military,  rather  than  a monastic  order. 
We  enter  upon  such  in  the  chapters  governing  the  powers 
and  privileges  of  the  (Grand)  Master,  of  the  Seneschal,  of 
the  Marshal,  of  the  “Comandeor  de  la  terre  de  Jerusalem.” 
Many  sections  have  to  do  with  military  discipline,  with  the 
ordering  of  the  knights  and  their  followers  on  the  march  and 
in  the  battle ; they  forbid  the  knights  to  joust  or  leave  the 
squadron  without  orders.3  Horses,  armour,  and  accoutre- 
ments are  regulated,  and,  in  short,  full  provision  is  made  for 
everything  conducing  to  make  the  army  efficient  in  war. 
There  is  also  a long  list  of  faults  and  crimes  for  which  a 
knight  may  be  disciplined  or  expelled;  the  latter  shall  be 

1 Page  167  of  de  Curzon’s  edition. 

2 See  in  de  Curzon’s  edition,  sections  431,  436,  448,  454,  and  657  sqq. 

3 It  would  seem  as  if  military  discipline,  as  moderns  understand  it,  took  its  rise 
in  these  Templars  and  Hospitallers. 


chap,  xxiii  FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD  551 


his  punishment  if  he  flee  before  the  Saracens  and  forsake 
his  standard  in  battle.1 

The  history  of  the  Templars,  significantly  epitomized  in 
the  amendments  to  their  regula , shows  the  necessary  as  well 
as  inevitable  secularization  of  a military  monastic  order ; an 
order  which  for  the  purposes  of  this  chapter  may  be  placed 
among  the  chief  historical  examples  of  chivalry.  For  in 
this  chapter  we  are  not  straying  through  the  pleasant  mazes 
of  romantic  literature,  but  are  keeping  close  to  history,  with 
the  intention  of  drawing  from  it  illustrations  of  chivalry’s 
ideals.  We  shall  not,  however,  enter  further  upon  the  story 
of  the  Order  of  the  Temple,  with  its  valorous  and  rapacious 
achievements  and  most  tragic  end  ; but  will  rather  look  to  the 
careers  of  historic  individuals  for  the  illumination  of  our  theme. 

Reaching  form  and  consciousness  in  the  eleventh  and 
twelfth  centuries,  chivalry  became  part  of  the  crusading 
ardour  of  those  times.  All  true  knights  were  or  might  be 
Crusaders ; and  of  a truth  there  was  no  purer  incarnation 
of  the  crusading  spirit  than  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  that  figure 
of  veritable  if  somewhat  slender  historicity,  upon  whom  in 
time  chronicler  and  trouvere  alike  were  to  fasten  as  the 
true  hero  of  the  enterprise  that  won  Jerusalem.  And  so  he 
was.  Not  that  Godfrey  was  commander  of  the  host.  He 
was  not  even  its  most  energetic  or  most  capable  leader. 
Boemund  of  Tarentum  and  Raymond  of  Toulouse  were  his 
superiors  in  power  and  military  energy.  But  neither 
Boemund,  nor  Tancred,  nor  Raymond,  nor  any  other  of 
those  princes  of  Christendom,  was  what  Godfrey  appears 
to  us,  the  type  and  symbol  of  the  perfect,  single-hearted, 
crusading  knight,  fighting  solely  for  the  Faith,  with  Christian 
devotion  and  humility,  and,  like  them  all,  with  more  than 
Christian  wrath.  The  first  Crusade  (1096-1099)  was 
stamped  with  hatred  and  slaughter : on  the  dreadful  march, 
at  the  more  dreadful  siege  and  final  sack  of  Antioch,  and 
finally  when  the  holy  sepulchre’s  defilement  was  washed  out 
in  Saracen  blood.  And  there  was  no  slaughterer  more  eager 
than  Godfrey. 

The  cruelty  and  religious  fervour  of  the  Crusade  are 
rendered  in  the  words  of  Raymond  of  Agiles,  one  of  the 

1 See  e.g.  de  Curzon’s  edition,  sections  419,  420,  574. 


552 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


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clergy  in  the  train  of  Count  Raymond  of  Toulouse,  and  an 
eye-witness  of  the  capture  of  Jerusalem.  After  days  of 
despairing  struggle  to  effect  a breach,  success  came  as  by 
the  mercy  of  God : 

“Among  the  first  to  enter  was  Tancred  and  the  Duke  of 
Lothringia  (Godfrey),  who  on  that  day  shed  quantities  of  blood 
almost  beyond  belief.  After  them  the  host  mounted  the  walls, 
and  now  the  Saracens  suffered.  Yet  although  the  city  was  all 
but  in  the  hands  of  the  Franks,  the  Saracens  resisted  the  party  of 
Count  Raymond  as  if  they  were  never  going  to  be  taken.  But 
when  our  men  had  mastered  the  walls  of  the  city  and  the  towers, 
then  wonderful  things  were  to  be  seen.  Numbers  of  the  Saracens 
were  beheaded — which  was  the  easiest  for  them;  others  were 
shot  with  arrows,  or  forced  to  jump  from  the  towers;  others 
were  slowly  tortured  and  were  burned  in  flames.  In  the  streets 
and  open  places  of  the  town  were  seen  piles  of  heads  and  hands 
and  feet.  One  rode  about  everywhere  amid  the  corpses  of  men 
and  horses.  But  these  were  small  matters ! Let  us  go  to 
Solomon’s  temple,  where  they  were  wont  to  chant  their  rites  and 
solemnities.  What  had  been  done  there?  If  we  speak  the  truth 
we  exceed  belief : let  this  suffice.  In  the  temple  and  porch  of 
Solomon  one  rode  in  blood  up  to  the  knees  and  even  to  the  horses’ 
bridles  by  the  just  and  marvellous  Judgment  of  God,  in  order 
that  the  same  place  which  so  long  had  endured  their  blasphemies 
against  Him  should  receive  their  blood.” 

So  the  Crusaders  wrought ; and  what  joy  did  they  feel ! 
Raymond  continues : 

“When  the  city  was  taken  it  was  worth  the  whole  long  labour 
to  witness  the  devotion  of  the  pilgrims  to  the  sepulchre  of  the 
Lord,  how  they  clapped  their  hands,  exulted,  and  sang  a new  song 
unto  the  Lord.  For  their  hearts  presented  to  God,  victor  and 
triumphant,  vows  of  praise  which  they  were  unable  to  explain.  A 
new  day,  new  joy  and  exultation,  new  and  perpetual  gladness,  the 
consummation  of  toil  and  devotion  drew  forth  from  all  new  words, 
new  songs.  This  day,  I say,  glorious  in  every  age  to  come,  turned 
all  our  griefs  and  toils  into  joy  and  exultation.”  1 

So  new  songs  of  gladness  burst  from  the  hearts  of  the 
soldiers  of  the  Cross.  In  a few  days  the  princes  made 
an  election,  and  offered  the  kingdom  to  Count  Raymond  : 
he  declined.  Then  Godfrey  was  made,’  not  king,  but 

1 Raimundus  de  Agiles,  Hist.  Francorum  qui  ceperunt  Jerusalem,  cap.  38-39. 
(Migne  155,  col.  659.) 


chap,  xxiii  FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD  553 


Advocatus  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre ; he  would  never  wear  a 
crown  where  his  Lord  had  worn  a crown  of  thorns.  As  a 
servant  of  Christ  and  of  His  Church  he  fought  and  ruled  some 
short  months  till  his  death.  His  fame  has  grown  because 
his  heart  was  pure,  and  because,  among  the  knights,  he 
represented  most  perfectly  the  religious  impulse  of  this 
crusade  which  fought  its  way  through  blood,  until  it  poured 
out  its  new  song  of  joy  over  the  blood-drenched  city.  He 
errs  who  thinks  to  find  the  source  and  power  of  the  First 
Crusade  elsewhere  than  in  the  flaming  zeal  of  feudal  Chris- 
tianity. There  was  doubtless  much  divergence  of  motive, 
secular  and  religious ; but  over-mastering  and  unifying  all 
was  the  passion  to  wrest  the  sepulchre  of  Christ  from  paynim 
defilement,  and  thus  win  salvation  for  the  Crusader.  Greed 
went  with  the  host,  but  it  did  not  inspire  the  enterprise.1 

Doubtless  the  stories  of  returning  knights  awakened  a 
spirit  of  romantic  adventure,  which  stirred  in  later  crusading 
generations.  It  was  not  so  in  the  eleventh  century  when 
the  First  Crusade  was  gathering.  The  romantic  imagination 
was  then  scarcely  quickened ; adventure  was  still  in- 
articulate, and  the  literature  of  adventure  for  the  venture’s 
sake  was  yet  to  be  created.  So  the  First  Crusade,  with  its 
motive  of  religious  zeal,  is  in  some  degree  distinguishable 
from  those  which  followed  when  knighthood  was  in  different 
flower.  If  not  the  Crusades  themselves,  at  least  the 
Chansons  of  the  trouveres  who  sang  of  them,  follow  a change 
corresponding  with  the  changing  taste  of  chivalry:  they 

begin  with  serious  matters,  and  are  occupied  with  the  great 
enterprise ; then  they  become  adventurous  in  theme, 
romantic,  till  at  last  even  romantic  love  is  infelicitously 
grafted  upon  the  religious  rage  that  won  Jerusalem. 

This  process  of  change  may  be  traced  in  the  growth  of 
the  legends  of  the  First  Crusade  and  Godfrey  of  Bouillon. 
Something  was  added  to  his  career  even  by  the  Latin 
Chronicles  of  fifty  years  later.  But  his  most  venturesome 
development  is  to  be  found  in  those  French  Chansons  de 
geste  which  have  been  made  into  the  “Cycle”  of  the  First 
Crusade.  Two  of  these,  the  Chansons  of  Antioche  and 
Jerusalem , were  originally  composed  by  a contemporary,  if 
1 Cf.  ante.  Chap.  XIV. 


554 


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not  a participant  in  the  expedition.  They  were  refashioned 
perhaps  seventy-five  or  a hundred  years  later,  in  the  reign 
of  Philip  Augustus,  by  another  trouvere,  who  still  kept  their 
old  tone  and  substance.  They  remained  poetic  narratives  of 
the  holy  war.  In  them  the  knights  are  fierce  and  bloody, 
cruel  and  sometimes  greedy ; but  their  whole  emprise  makes 
onward  to  the  end  in  view,  the  winning  of  the  holy 
city.  These  poems  are  epic  and  not  romantic : they  may 
even  be  called  historical.  The  character  of  Godfrey  is 
developed  with  legendary  or  epic  propriety,  through  a 
heightening  of  his  historic  qualities.  He  equals  or  excels 
the  other  barons  in  fierce  valour,  and  yet  a touch  of  courtesy 
tempers  his  wrath.  In  Christian  meekness  and  in  modesty 
he  surpasses  all,  and  he  refuses  the  throne  of  Jerusalem 
until  he  has  been  commanded  from  on  high.  At  that  he 
accepts  the  kingdom  as  a sacred  charge  in  defence  of  which 
he  is  to  die. 

It  is  otherwise  with  a number  of  other  chansons 
composed  in  the  latter  part  of  the  twelfth  and  through 
the  thirteenth  century.  Some  of  them  (the  Chanson  des 
chetifs , for  example)  had  probably  to  do  with  the  First 
Crusade.  Others,  like  the  various  poems  which  tell  of  the 
Chevalier  au  Cygne,  were  inaptly  forced  into  connection  with 
the  family  of  Godfrey.  They  have  become  adventurous, 
and  are  studded  with  irrelevant  marvels,  rather  than  assisted 
to  their  denouements  by  serious  supernatural  intervention. 
Monsters  appear,  and  incongruous  romantic  episodes ; 
Godfrey’s  ancestor  has  become  the  Swan-knight,  and  he 
himself  duplicates  the  exploits  previously  ascribed  to  that 
half-fairy  person.  Knightly  manners,  from  brutal,  have 
become  courteous.  Women  throng  these  poems,  and  the 
romantic  love  of  women  enters,  although  not  in  the  finished 
guise  in  which  it  plays  so  dominant  a role  in  the  Arthurian 
Cycle.  Such  themes,  unknown  to  the  earlier  crusading 
chansons , would  have  fitted  ill  with  a martial  theme  driving 
on  through  war  and  carnage  (not  through  “ adventures”) 
to  the  holy  end  in  view.1 

1 On  these  poems  see  Pigeonneau,  Le  Cycle  de  la  Croisade  (St.  Cloud,  1877); 
Paulin  Paris,  in  Histoire  litteraire  de  la  France,  vol.  22,  pp.  350-402,  and  ibid.  vol.  25, 
p.  507  sqq.;  Gaston  Paris,  “La  Naissance  du  chevalier  au  Cygne,”  Romania,  19, 
p.  314  sqq.  (1890). 


chap,  xxiii  FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD  555 


The  Crusades  open  with  the  form  of  Godfrey  of  Bouillon. 
A century  and  a half  elapses  and  they  deaden  to  a close 
beneath  the  futile  radiance  of  a saintlike  and  perfect 
knightly  personality.  St.  Louis  of  France  is  as  clear  a 
figure  as  any  in  the  Middle  Ages.  From  all  sides  his  life  is 
known.  We  see  him  as  a painstaking  sovereign  meting  out 
even  justice,  and  maintaining  his  royal  rights  against  feudal 
turbulence  and  also  against  ecclesiastical  encroachment. 
During  his  reign  the  monarchy  of  France  continues  to 
advance  in  power  and  repute.  And  yet  there  was  no  jot  of 
worldly  wisdom,  and  scant  consideration  of  a realm  sorely 
needing  its  ruler,  in  the  fanatical  religious  devotion  which 
drew  him  twice  across  the  sea  on  crusades  unparalleled 
in  their  foolishness.  For  the  world  was  growing  wiser 
politically;  and  what  was  glorious  feudal  enthusiasm  in  the 
year  1099,  was  deliberate  disregard  of  experience  in  the 
years  1248  and  1270. 

Yet  who  would  have  had  St.  Louis  wiser  in  his 
generation?  The  loss  to  France  was  mankind’s  gain,  from 
the  example  of  saintly  king  and  perfect  knight,  kept  bright 
in  the  narratives  of  men  equal  to  the  task.  Louis  was 
happy  in  his  biographers.  Two  among  them  knew  him 
intimately  and  in  ways  affording  special  opportunities  to 
observe  the  sides  of  his  character  congenial  to  their  respective 
tempers.  One  was  his  confessor  for  twenty  years,  the 
Dominican  Geoffrey  of  Beaulieu ; the  other  was  the  Sire 
de  Joinville.  Geoffrey’s  Vita  records  Louis’  devotions; 
Joinville’s  Histoire  notes  the  king’s  piety;  but  the  qualities 
which  it  illuminates  are  those  of  a French  gentleman  and 
knight  and  grand  seigneur,  like  Joinville  himself. 

The  book  of  the  Dominican 1 is  not  picturesque.  It 
opens  with  an  edifying  comparison  between  King  Josiah 
and  King  Louis.  Then  it  praises  the  king’s  mother,  Queen 
Blanche  of  pious  memory.  As  for  Louis,  the  confessor  has 
been  unable  to  discover  that  he  ever  committed  a mortal 
sin : he  sought  faithful  and  wise  counsellors ; he  was  careful 
and  gracious  in  speech,  never  using  an  oath  or  any 
scurrilous  expression.  In  earlier  years,  when  under  the 

1 “Vita  Ludovici  noni  auctore  Gaufrido  de  Belloloco”  ( Recueil  des  historiens 
des  Gaules  et  de  la  France,  t.  xx.  pp.  3-26). 


556 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


necessity  of  taking  oath,  he  would  say,  “In  nomine  mei”; 
but  afterwards,  hearing  that  some  religious  man  had  objected 
to  this,  he  restricted  his  asseverations  to  the  “est,  est”  and 
“non,  non”  of  the  Gospel. 

From  the  time  he  first  crossed  the  sea,  he  wore  no 
scarlet  raiment,  but  clothed  himself  in  sober  garments. 
And  as  such  were  of  less  value  to  give  to  the  poor  than 
those  which  he  had  formerly  worn,  he  added  sixty  pounds  a 
year  to  his  almsgiving ; for  he  did  not  wish  the  poor  to 
suffer  because  of  his  humble  dress.  Geoffrey  gives  the  long 
tale  of  his  charities  to  the  poor  and  to  the  mendicant 
Orders.  On  the  Sabbaths  it  was  the  king’s  secret  custom 

to  wash  the  feet  of  three  beggars,  dry  them,  and  kiss  them 

humbly.  He  commanded  in  his  will  that  no  stately  monu- 
ment should  be  erected  over  his  grave.  He  treated  his 
confessors  with  great  respect,  and,  while  confessing,  if 
perchance  a window  was  to  be  closed  or  opened,  he  quickly 
rose  and  shut  or  opened  it,  and  would  not  hear  of  his 
confessor  doing  it.  In  Advent  season  and  Lent  he 
abstained  from  marital  intercourse.  Some  years  before  his 
death,  if  he  had  had  his  will,  he  would  have  resigned  his 

kingdom  to  his  son  and  entered  the  Order  of  the  Fran- 

ciscans or  Dominicans.  He  brought  up  his  children  most 
religiously,  and  wished  some  of  them  to  take  the  vows.1 

He  confessed  every  Friday  and  also  between  times,  if 
something  occurred  to  him ; and  if  he  thought  of  anything 
in  the  night,  he  would  send  for  his  confessor  and  confess 
before  matins.2  After  confession  he  always  took  his 
discipline  from  his  confessor,  whom  he  furnished  with  a 
scourge  of  five  little  braided  iron  chains,  attached  to  an 
ivory  handle.  This  he  would  afterwards  put  back  into  a 
little  case,  which  he  carried  hanging  to  his  belt,  but  out 
of  sight.  Such  little  cases  he  sometimes  presented  to 
his  children  or  friends  in  secret,  that  they  might  have  a 


1 The  Testament  of  St.  Louis,  written  for  his  eldest  son,  is  a complete  rule  of  con- 
duct for  a Christian  prince,  and  indicates  St.  Louis’  mind  on  the  education  of 
one.  It  has  been  printed  and  translated  many  times.  Geoffrey  of  Beaulieu 
gives  it  in  Latin  (chap,  xv.)  and  in  French  at  the  end  of  the  Vita.  It  is  also  in  Join- 
ville. 

2 One  sees  here  the  same  religious  anxiety  which  is  so  well  brought  out  by  Salim- 
bene’s  account  of  St.  Louis,  ante,  pp.  524  sqq. 


chap,  xxiii  FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD  557 


convenient  instrument  of  discipline.  He  wore  haircloth 
next  his  flesh  in  the  holy  seasons,  a habit  distressing  to  his 
tender  skin,  until  his  confessor  persuaded  him  to  abandon 
this  form  of  penance  as  ill  comporting  with  his  station.  He 
replaced  it  by  increasing  his  charities.  His  fasts  were 
regular  and  frequent,  till  he  lessened  them  upon  prudent 
advice ; for  he  was  not  strong.  He  would  have  liked  to 
hear  all  the  canonical  hours  chanted;  and  twice  a day  he 
heard  Mass,  and  daily  the  Office  for  the  Dead.  Sometimes, 
soon  after  midnight,  he  would  rise  to  hear  matins,  and  then 
would  take  a quiet  time  for  prayer  by  his  bed.  Likewise 
he  loved  to  hear  sermons.  On  returning  over  the  sea, 
when  the  ships  suffered  a long  delay,  he  had  preaching 
three  times  a week,  with  the  sermon  specially  adapted  to 
the  sailors,  a class  of  men  who  rarely  hear  the  Word  of  God. 
He  prevailed  on  many  of  them  to  confess,  and  declared 
himself  ready  at  any  time  to  put  his  hand  to  a rope,  if 
necessary,  so  that  a sailor  while  confessing  might  not  be 
called  away  by  any  exigency  of  the  sea. 

While  beyond  the  sea,  this  good  king,  hearing  that  a 
Saracen  Sultan  had  collected  the  books  of  their  philosophy 
at  his  own  expense  for  his  subjects’  use,  determined  not 
to  be  outdone  whenever  he  should  return  to  Paris,  a purpose 
which  he  amply  carried  out,  diligently  and  generously 
supplying  money  for  copying  and  renewing  the  writings  of 
the  Doctors.  At  enormous  expense  he  obtained  the 
Saviour’s  crown  of  thorns  and  a good  part  of  the  true  cross, 
from  the  emperor  at  Constantinople,  with  many  other 
precious  relics;  all  of  which  the  king  barefooted  helped  to 
carry  in  holy  procession  when  they  were  received  by  the 
clergy  of  Paris. 

The  king  was  very  careful  in  the  distribution  of 
ecclesiastical  patronage,  always  seeing  to  it  that  the 
candidate  was  not  already  enjoying  another  benefice.  His 
heart  exulted  when  it  came  to  him  to  bestow  a benefice 
upon  some  especially  holy  man.  He  was  most  zealous  in 
the  suppression  of  swearing  and  blasphemy,  and  with  the 
advice  of  the  papal  legate  then  in  France  issued  an  edict, 
providing  that  the  lips  of  those  guilty  of  this  sin  should  be 
seared  with  hot  irons ; and  when  certain  ones  murmured,  he 


558 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


declared  that  he  would  willingly  suffer  his  own  lips  to  be 
branded  if  that  would  purge  his  realm  of  this  vice. 

Such  were  the  acts  and  qualities  of  Louis  which  im- 
pressed his  Dominican  confessor.  They  were  the  quali- 
ties of  a saint,  and  would  have  brought  their  possessor  to 
a monastery,  had  not  his  royal  station  held  him  in  the 
world.  The  Dominican  could  not  know  the  knightly  nature 
of  his  royal  penitent,  and  still  less  reflect  it  in  his  Latin  of 
the  confessional.  For  this  there  was  needed  the  pen  of  a 
great  gentleman,  whose  nature  enabled  him  to  picture  his 
lord  in  a book  of  such  high  breeding  that  it  were  hard  to  find 
its  fellow.  This  book  is  stately  with  the  Sire  de  Joinville’s 
consciousness  of  his  position  and  blood,  and  stately  through 
the  respect  he  bore  his  lord — a book  with  which  no  one 
would  take  a liberty.  Yet  it  is  simple  in  thought  and 
phrase,  as  written  by  one  who  lived  through  what  he  tells, 
and  closely  knew  and  dearly  loved  the  king.  From  it  one 
learns  that  he  who  was  a saint  in  his  confessor’s  eyes  was 
also  a monarch  from  his  soul  out  to  his  royal  manners  and 
occasional  royal  insistence  upon  acts  which  others  thought 
unwise.  We  also  learn  to  know  him  as  a knightly,  hapless 
soldier  of  the  Cross,  who  would  not  waver  from  his  word 
plighted  even  to  an  infidel. 

That  St.  Louis  was  a veritable  knight  is  the  first  thing 
one  learns  from  Joinville.  The  first  part  of  my  book,  says 
that  gentleman,  tells  how  the  king  conducted  his  life  after 
the  way  of  God  and  the  Church,  and  to  the  profit  of  his 
realm;  the  second  tells  of  his  “granz  chevaleries  et  de  ses 
granz  faiz  d’armes.”  “The  first  deed  ( faiz ) whereby  ‘il 
mist  son  cors  en  avanture  de  mort  ’ was  at  our  arrival  before 
Damietta,  where  his  council  was  of  the  opinion,  as  I have 
understood,  that  he  ought  to  remain  in  his  ship  until  he 
saw  what  his  knights  (. sa  chevalerie)  should  do,  who  made  a 
landing.  The  reason  why  they  so  counselled  him  was  that 
if  he  disembarked,  and  his  people  should  be  killed  and  he 
with  them,  the  whole  affair  was  lost;  while  if  he  remained 
in  his  ship  he  could  in  his  own  person  renew  the  attempt  to 
conquer  Egypt.  And  he  would  credit  no  one,  but  leaped 
into  the  sea,  all  armed,  his  shield  hanging  from  his  neck,  his 
lance  in  hand,  and  was  one  of  the  first  upon  the  beach.” 


chap,  xxiii  FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD  559 


This  is  from  Joinville’s  Introduction.  He  recommences 
formally : 

“In  the  name  of  God  the  all  powerful,  I,  John,  Sire  of  Joinville, 
Seneschal  of  Champagne,  cause  to  be  written  the  life  of  our 
sainted  king  Louis,  as  I saw  and  heard  of  it  for  the  space  of  six 
years  while  I was  in  his  company  on  the  pilgrimage  beyond  the 
sea,  and  since  we  returned.  And  before  I tell  you  his  great  deeds 
and  prowess  (chevalerie) , I will  recount  what  I saw  and  heard  of 
his  holy  words  and  good  precepts,  so  that  they  may  be  found  one 
after  the  other  for  the  improvement  of  those  who  hear. 

“This  holy  man  loved  God  with  all  his  heart,  and  imitated  His 
works : which  was  evident  in  this,  that  as  God  died  for  the  love 
which  He  bore  His  people,  so  he  (Louis)  put  his  body  in  peril 
several  times  for  the  love  which  he  bore  his  people.  The  great 
love  which  he  had  for  his  people  appeared  in  what  he  said  to  his 
eldest  son,  Louis,  when  very  sick  at  Fontainebleau:  ‘Fair  son,’ 
said  he,  ‘I  beg  thee  to  make  thyself  loved  by  the  people  of  thy 
kingdom;  for  indeed  I should  prefer  that  a Scot  from  Scotland 
came  and  ruled  the  people  of  the  kingdom  well  and  faithfully, 
rather  than  that  thou  shouldst  rule  them  ill  in  the  sight  of  all.’  ” 

Joinville  continues  relating  the  virtues  of  the  king,  and 
recording  his  conversations  with  himself : 

“He  called  me  once  and  said,  ‘Seneschal,  what  is  God?’ 
And  I said  to  him,  ‘Sire,  it  is  a being  so  good  that  there  can  be  no 
better.’ 

“ ‘Now  I ask  you,’  said  he,  ‘which  would  you  choose,  to  be  a 
leper,  or  to  have  committed  a mortal  sin  ? ’ And  I who  never  lied 
to  him  replied  that  I had  rather  have  committed  thirty  than  be  a 
leper.  Afterwards  he  called  me  apart  and  made  me  sit  at  his  feet 
and  said  : ‘ Why  did  you  say  that  to  me  yesterday  ? ’ And  I told 
him  that  I would  say  it  again.  And  he:  ‘You  speak  like  a 
thoughtless  trifler ; for  you  should  know  there  is  no  leprosy  so 
ugly  as  to  be  in  mortal  sin,  because  the  soul  in  mortal  sin  is  like 
the  devil.  This  is  why  there  can  be  no  leprosy  so  ugly.  And 
then,  of  a truth,  when  a man  dies,  he  is  cured  of  the  leprosy  of  the 
body ; but  when  the  man  who  has  committed  a mortal  sin  dies, 
he  does  not  know,  nor  is  it  certain,  that  he  has  so  repented  while 
living,  that  God  has  pardoned  him ; this  is  why  he  should  have 
great  fear  that  this  leprosy  will  last  as  long  as  God  shall  be  in 
paradise.  So  I pray  you  earnestly  that  you  will  train  your  heart, 
for  the  love  of  God  and  of  me,  to  wish  rather  for  leprosy  or  any 
other  bodily  evil,  rather  than  that  mortal  sin  should  come  into 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


560 

your  soul.’  He  asked  me  whether  I washed  the  feet  of  the  poor 
•n  Holy  Tuesday.  ‘Sire,’  said  I,  ‘ quel  malheur!  I will  not  wash 
those  villains’  feet.’  ‘Truly  that  was  ill  said,’  said  he;  ‘for  you 
should  not  hold  in  contempt  what  God  did  for  our  instruction. 
So  I pray  you,  for  the  love  of  God  first,  and  for  the  love  of  me, 
to  accustom  yourself  to  wash  them.’  ” 

Joinville  was  some  years  younger  than  his  king,  who 
loved  him  well  and  wished  to  help  him.  The  king  also 
esteemed  Master  Robert  de  Sorbon  1 for  the  high  respect  as 
a preudom  in  which  he  was  held,  and  had  him  eat  at  his 
table.  One  day  Master  Robert  was  seated  next  to  Joinville. 

“ ‘Seneschal,’  said  the  king,  smiling,  ‘tell  me  the  reasons  why 
a man  of  wisdom  and  valour  ( preudom , prud’homme)  is  accounted 
better  than  a fool.’  Then  began  the  argument  between  me  and 
Master  Robert;  and  when  we  had  disputed  for  a time,  the  king 
rendered  his  decision,  saying:  ‘Master  Robert,  I should  like  to 
have  the  name  of  preudom , so  be  it  that  I was  one,  and  all  the  rest 
I would  leave  to  you ; for  preudom  is  such  a grand  and  good  thing 
that  it  fills  the  mouth  just  to  pronounce  it.” 

Master  Robert  plays  a not  altogether  happy  part  in  an- 
other scene,  varicoloured  and  delightful : 

“The  holy  king  was  at  Corbeil  one  Pentecost,  and  twenty-four 
knights  with  him.  The  king  went  down  after  dinner  into  the 
courtyard  back  of  the  chapel,  and  was  talking  at  the  entrance  with 
the  Count  of  Brittany,  the  father  of  the  present  duke,  whom  God 
preserve.  Master  Robert  de  Sorbon  came  to  seek  me  there,  and 
took  me  by  the  cloak,  and  led  me  to  the  king,  and  all  the  other 
gentlemen  came  after  us.  Then  I asked  Master  Robert : ‘Master 
Robert,  what  would  you?’  And  he  said  to  me:  ‘If  the  king 
should  sit  down  here,  and  you  should  seat  yourself  above  him,  I 
ask  you  whether  you  would  not  be  to  blame?’  And  I said,  Yes. 

“And  he  said  to  me:  ‘Yet  you  lay  yourself  open  to  blame, 
since  you  are  more  nobly  clad  than  the  king:  for  you  wear 
squirrel’s  fur  and  cloth  of  green,  which  the  king  does  not.’ 

“And  I said  to  him : ‘Master  Robert,  saving  your  grace,  I do 
nothing  worthy  of  blame  when  I wear  squirrel’s  fur  and  cloth  of 
green ; for  it  is  the  clothing  which  my  father  and  mother  left  me. 
But  you  do  what  is  to  blame ; for  you  are  the  son  of  a vilain  and 
vilaine , and  have  abandoned  the  clothes  of  your  father  and  your 

1 The  founder  of  the  College  of  the  Sorbonne. 


chap,  xxiii  FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD  561 


mother,  and  are  clad  in  richer  cloth  than  the  king.’  And  then  I 
took  the  lappet  of  his  surcoat  and  that  of  the  king’s,  and  said  to 
him : ‘See  whether  I do  not  speak  truly.’  And  the  king  set  him- 
self to  defend  Master  Robert  with  all  his  might.” 

“Afterwards  Messire  the  king  called  to  him  Monseigneur 
Philippe  his  son,  the  father  of  the  present  king,  and  the  king 
Thibaut  (of  Navarre),  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  earth  and  said: 
‘ Sit  close  to  me,  so  that  they  may  not  hear.’ 

“ ‘Ah  Sire,’  say  they,  ‘we  dare  not  sit  so  close  to  you.’ 

“And  he  said  to  me,  ‘Seneschal,  sit  down  here.’  And  so  I 
did,  so  close  that  our  clothes  touched.  And  he  made  them  sit 
down  by  me,  and  said  to  them : ‘You  have  done  ill,  you  who  are 
my  sons,  who  have  not  obeyed  at  once  all  that  I bade  you : and 
see  to  it  that  this  does  not  happen  with  you  again.’  And  they 
promised.  And  then  he  said  to  me,  that  he  had  called  us  in  order 
to  confess  to  me  that  he  was  in  the  wrong  in  defending  Master 
Robert  against  me.  ‘But,’  said  he,  ‘I  saw  him  so  dumbfounded 
that  there  was  good  need  I should  defend  him.  And  do  none  of 
you  attach  any  importance  to  all  I said  defending  Master  Robert ; 
for,  as  the  seneschal  said  to  him,  you  ought  to  dress  well  and 
becomingly,  so  that  your  wives  may  love  you  better,  and  your 
people  hold  you  in  higher  esteem.  For  the  sage  says  that  one 
should  appear  in  such  clothes  and  arms  that  the  wise  of  this  world 
may  not  say  you  have  done  too  much,  nor  the  young  people  say 
you  have  done  too  little.’  ” 

The  hopelessly  worthy  parvenu  was  quite  outside  this 
charmed  circle  of  blood  and  manners. 

Another  story  of  Joinville  opens  our  eyes  to  Louis’ 
views  on  Jews  and  infidels.  The  king  was  telling  him  of  a 
grand  argument  between  Jews  and  Christian  clergy  which 
was  to  have  been  held  at  Cluny.  And  a certain  poverty- 
stricken  knight  was  there,  who  obtained  leave  to  speak  the 
first  word ; and  he  asked  the  head  Jew  whether  he  believed 
that  Mary  was  the  mother  of  God  and  still  a virgin.  And 
the  Jew  answered  that  he  did  not  believe  it  at  all.  The 
knight  replied  that  in  that  case  the  Jew  had  acted  like  a 
fool  to  enter  her  monastery,  and  should  pay  for  it ; and  with 
that  he  knocked  him  down  with  his  staff,  and  all  the  other 
Jews  ran  off.  When  the  abbot  reproached  him  for  his 
folly,  he  replied  that  the  abbot’s  folly  was  greater  in  having 
the  argument  at  all.  “So  I tell  you,”  said  the  king  on 

VOL.  1 20 


562 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


finishing  his  story,  “that  only  a skilled  clerk  should  dispute 
with  misbelievers;  but  a layman,  when  he  hears  any  one 
speak  ill  of  the  Christian  law,  should  defend  that  law  with 
nothing  but  his  sword,  which  he  should  plunge  into  the 
defamer’s  belly,  to  the  hilt  if  possible.” 

Well  known  is  the  hapless  outcome  of  St.  Louis’ 
Crusades : the  first  one  leading  to  defeat  and  captivity  in 
Egypt,  the  second  ending  in  the  king’s  death  by  disease  at 
Tunis.  Yet  in  what  he  sought  to  do  in  his  Lord’s  cause,  St. 
Louis  was  a true  knight  and  soldier  of  the  Cross.  The 
spirit  was  willing ; but  the  flesh  accomplished  little.  Let  us 
take  from  Joinville’s  story  of  that  first  crusade  a wonderfully 
illustrative  chapter,  giving  the  confused  scenes  occurring 
after  the  capture  of  Damietta,  when  the  French  king  and  his 
feudal  host  had  advanced  southerly  through  the  Delta,  along 
the  eastern  branch  of  the  Nile.  Joinville  was  making  a 
reconnaissance  with  his  own  knights,  when  they  came 
suddenly  upon  a large  body  of  Saracens.  The  Christians 
were  hard  pressed ; here  and  there  a knight  falls  in  the  melee, 
among  them 

“Monseigneur  Hugues  de  Trichatel,  the  lord  of  Conflans,  who 
carried  my  banner.  I and  my  knights  spurred  to  deliver 
Monseigneur  Raoul  de  Wanou,  who  was  thrown  to  the  ground. 
As  I was  making  my  way  back,  the  Turks  struck  at  me  with  their 
lances;  my  horse  fell  on  his  knees  under  the  blows,  and  I went 
over  his  head.  I recovered  myself  as  I might,  shield  on  neck  and 
sword  in  hand;  and  Monseigneur  Erard  de  Siverey  (whom  God 
absolve !),  who  was  of  my  people,  came  to  my  aid,  and  said  that  we 
had  better  retreat  to  a ruined  house,  and  there  wait  for  the  king 
who  was  approaching.” 

One  notes  the  high-born  courtesy  with  which  the  Sire 
de  Joinville  speaks  of  the  gentlemen  who  had  the  honour  of 
serving  him.  The  fight  goes  on. 

“ Monseigneur  Erard  de  Siverey  was  struck  by  a sword-blow  in 
his  face,  so  that  his  nose  hung  down  over  his  lips.  And  then  I was 
minded  of  Monseigneur  Saint  Jacques,  whom  I thus  invoked: 
‘Beau  Sire  Saint  Jacques,  help  and  succor  me  in  this  need.’ 

“When  I had  made  my  prayer,  Monseigneur  Erard  de  Siverey 
said  to  me : ‘ Sire,  if  you  think  that  neither  I nor  my  heirs  would 
suffer  reproof,  I would  go  for  aid  to  the  Count  of  Anjou,  whom  I 


chap,  xxiii  FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD  563 


see  over  there  in  the  fields.’  And  I said  to  him : ‘Messire  Erard, 
I think  you  would  do  yourself  great  honour,  if  you  now  went  for 
aid  to  save  our  lives ; for  your  own  is  in  jeopardy.’  And  indeed  I 
spoke  truly,  for  he  died  of  that  wound.  He  asked  the  advice  of  all 
our  knights  who  were  there,  and  all  approved  as  I had  approved. 
And  when  he  heard  that,  he  requested  me  to  let  him  have  his 
horse,  which  I was  holding  by  the  bridle  with  the  rest.  And  so  I 
did.” 

The  knightliness  of  this  scene  is  perfect,  with  its  liege 
fealty  and  its  carefulness  as  to  the  point  of  honour,  its  care- 
fulness also  that  the  vassal  knight  shall  fail  in  no  duty  to 
his  lord  whereby  the  descent  of  his  fief  may  be  jeopardized. 
Monseigneur  Erard  (whom  God  absolve,  we  say  with 
Joinville !)  is  very  careful  to  have  his  lord’s  assent  and  the 
approval  of  his  fellows,  before  he  will  leave  his  lord  in  peril, 
and  undergo  still  greater  risk  to  bring  him  succour. 

Well,  the  Count  of  Anjou  brought  such  aid  as  created  a 
diversion,  and  the  Saracens  turned  to  the  new  foe.  But 
now  the  king  arrives  on  the  scene : 

“There  where  I was  on  foot  with  my  knights,  wounded  as 
already  said,  comes  the  king  with  his  whole  array,  and  a great 
sound  of  trumpets  and  drums.  And  he  halted  on  the  road  on  the 
dyke.  Never  saw  I one  so  bravely  armed : for  he  showed  above 
all  his  people  from  his  shoulders  up,  a gilded  casque  upon  his  head 
and  a German  sword  in  his  hand.” 

Then  the  king’s  good  knights  charge  into  the  battle, 
and  fine  feats  of  arms  are  done.  The  fighting  is  fierce  and 
general.  At  length  the  king  is  counselled  to  bear  back 
along  the  river,  keeping  close  to  it  on  his  right  hand,  so  as 
to  reunite  with  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  who  had  been  left  to 
guard  the  camp.  The  knights  are  recalled  from  the  melee, 
and  with  a great  noise  of  trumpets  and  drums,  and  Saracen 
horns,  the  army  is  set  in  motion. 

“And  now  up  comes  the  constable,  Messire  Imbert  de  Beaujeu, 
and  tells  the  king  that  the  Count  of  Artois,  his  brother,  was 
defending  himself  in  a house  in  Mansourah,  and  needed  aid. 
And  the  king  said  to  him  : ‘ Constable,  go  before  and  I will  follow 
you.’  And  I said  to  the  constable  that  I would  be  his  knight,  at 
which  he  thanked  me  greatly.” 


564 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


Again  one  feels  the  feudal  chivalry.  Now  the  affair 
becomes  rather  distraught.  They  set  out  to  succour  the 
Count  of  Artois,  but  are  checked,  and  it  is  rumoured  that 
the  king  is  taken;  and  in  fact  six  Saracens  had  rushed 
upon  him  and  seized  his  horse  by  the  bridle;  but  he  had 
freed  himself  with  such  great  strokes  that  all  his  people  took 
courage.  Yet  the  host  is  driven  back  upon  the  river,  and  is 
in  desperate  straits.  Joinville  and  his  knights  defend  a 
bridge  over  a tributary,  which  helps  to  check  the  Saracen 
advance,  and  affords  an  uncertain  means  of  safety  to 
the  French.  But  there  is  no  cessation  of  the  Saracen  at- 
tack with  bows  and  spears.  The  knights  seemed  full  of 
arrows.  Joinville  saved  his  life  with  an  arrow-proof  Saracen 
vest,  “so  that  I was  wounded  by  their  arrows  only  in  five 
places”!  One  of  Joinville’s  own  stout  burgesses,  bearing 
his  lord’s  banner  on  a lance,  helped  in  the  charges  upon  the 
enemy.  In  the  melee  up  speaks  the  good  Count  of 
Soissons,  whose  cousin  Joinville  had  married.  “He  joked 
with  me  and  said : 1 Seneschal,  let  us  whoop  after  this 
canaille ; for  by  God’s  coif  (his  favourite  oath)  we  shall  be 
talking,  you  and  I,  about  this  day  in  the  chambers  of  the 
ladies.’  ” 

At  last,  the  arbalests  were  brought  out  from  the  camp, 
and  the  Saracens  drew  off — fled,  says  the  Sire  de  Joinville. 
And  the  king  was  there,  and 

“I  took  off  his  casque,  and  gave  him  my  iron  cap,  so  that  he  might 
get  some  air.  And  then  comes  brother  Henry  de  Ronnay,  Prevost 
of  the  Hospital,  to  the  king  when  he  had  passed  the  river,  and 
kisses  his  mailed  hand.  And  the  king  asked  him  whether  he  had 
news  of  the  Count  of  Artois,  his  brother ; and  he  said  that  he  had 
indeed  news  of  him,  for  he  was  sure  that  his  brother  the  Count  of 
Artois  was  in  Paradise.  ‘Ha!  sire,’  said  the  Prevost,  ‘be  of  good 
cheer;  for  no  such  honour  ever  came  to  a king  of  France  as  is 
come  to  you.  For  to  fight  your  enemies  you  have  crossed  a river 
by  swimming,  have  discomfited  your  enemies  and  driven  them 
from  the  field,  and  taken  their  engines  and  tents,  where  you  will 
sleep  this  night.’  And  the  king  replied  that  God  be  adored  for 
all  that  He  gave ; and  then  the  great  tears  fell  from  his  eyes.” 

One  need  not  follow  on  to  the  ill  ending  of  the  campaign, 
when  king  and  knights  all  had  to  yield  themselves  prisoners, 


chap,  xxiii  FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD  565 


in  most  uncertain  captivity.  The  Saracen  Emirs  conspired 
and  slew  their  Sultan ; the  prisoners’  lives  hung  on  a thread ; 
and  when  the  terms  were  arranging  for  the  delivery  and 
ransom  of  the  king,  his  own  scruples  nearly  proved  fatal. 
For  the  Emirs,  after  they  had  made  their  oath,  wished  the 
king  to  swear,  and  put  his  seal  to  a parchment, 

“that  if  he  the  king  did  not  hold  to  his  agreements,  might  he 
be  as  ashamed  as  the  Christian  who  denied  God  and  His  Mother 
and  was  cut  off  from  the  company  of  the  twelve  Companions 
(apostles)  and  of  all  the  saints,  male  and  female.  To  this  the  king 
consented.  The  last  point  of  the  oath  was  this : That  if  the 
king  did  not  keep  his  agreements,  might  he  be  as  shamed  as  the 
Christian  who  denied  God  and  His  law,  and  in  contempt  of  God 
spat  on  the  Cross  and  trod  on  it.  When  the  king  heard  that, 
he  said,  please  God,  he  would  not  make  that  oath.” 

Then  the  trouble  began,  and  the  Emirs  tortured  the 
venerable  patriarch  of  Jerusalem  till  he  besought  the  king  to 
swear.  How  the  oath  was  arranged  I do  not  know,  says 
Joinville,  but  finally  the  Emirs  professed  themselves  satisfied. 
And  after  that,  when  the  ransom  was  paid,  the  Saracens  by 
a mistake  accepted  a sum  ten  thousand  livres  short,  and 
Louis,  in  spite  of  the  protest  of  his  counsellors,  refused  to 
permit  advantage  to  be  taken  and  insisted  on  full  payment. 

Many  years  afterwards,  when  Louis  was  dead  and 
canonized,  a dream  came  to  his  faithful  Joinville  who  was 
then  an  old  man. 

“It  seemed  to  me  in  my  dream  that  I saw  the  king  in  front  of 
my  chapel  at  Joinville ; and  he  was,  so  he  seemed  to  me,  wonder- 
fully happy  and  glad  at  heart;  and  I also  was  glad  at  heart, 
because  I saw  him  in  my  chateau.  And  I said  to  him : ‘ Sire, 

when  you  go  hence,  I will  prepare  lodging  for  you  at  my  house  in 
my  village  of  Chevillon.’  And  he  replied,  smiling,  and  said  to  me  : 
‘Sire  de  Joinville,  by  the  troth  I owe  you,  I do  not  wish  so  soon 
to  go  from  here.’  When  I awoke  I bethought  me;  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  it  would  please  God  and  the  king  that  I should  provide 
a lodging  for  him  in  my  chapel.  So  I have  placed  an  altar  in 
honour  of  God  and  of  him  there,  where  there  shall  be  always 
chanting  in  his  honour.  And  I have  established  a fund  in  per- 
petuity to  do  this. 

Godfrey  of  Bouillon  and  St.  Louis  of  France  show 
knighthood  as  inspired  by  serious  and  religious  motives. 


566 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


We  pass  on  a hundred  years  after  St.  Louis,  to  a famous 
Chronicle  concerning  men  whose  knightly  lives  exhibit  no 
such  religious,  and  possibly  no  such  serious,  purpose,  so  far 
at  least  as  they  are  set  forth  by  this  delightful  chronicler. 
His  name  of  course  is  Sir  John  Froissart,  and  his  chief  work 
goes  under  the  name  of  The  Chronicles  of  England , France , 
Spain , and  the  adjoining  Countries.  It  covers  the  period 
from  the  reign  of  Edward  II.  to  the  coronation  of  Henry  IV. 
of  England.  Have  we  not  all  known  his  book  as  one  to 
delight  youth  and  age  ? 

Let  us,  however,  open  it  seriously,  and  first  of  all  notice 
the  Preface,  with  its  initial  sentence  giving  the  note  of  the 
entire  work:  “That  the  grans  merveilles  and  the  hiau  fait 
d'armes  achieved  in  the  great  wars  between  England  and 
France,  and  the  neighbouring  realms  may  be  worthily  re- 
corded, and  known  in  the  present  and  in  the  time  to  come,  I 
purpose  to  order  and  put  the  same  in  prose,  according 
to  the  true  information  which  I have  obtained  from  valiant 
knights,  squires,  and  marshals  at  arms,  who  are  and  rightly 
should  be  the  investigators  and  reporters  of  such  matters.”  1 

“Marvels”  and  “deeds  of  arms” — soon  he  will  use 
the  equivalent  phrase  belles  aventures.  With  delicious 
garrulity,  but  never  wavering  from  his  point  of  view,  the 
good  Sir  John  repeats  and  enlarges  as  he  enters  on  his  work 
in  which  “to  encourage  all  valorous  hearts,  and  to  show  them 
honourable  examples”  he  proposes  to  “point  out  and  speak 
of  each  adventure  from  the  nativity  of  the  noble  King 
Edward  (III.)  of  England,  who  so  potently  reigned,  and  who 
was  engaged  in  so  many  battles  and  perilous  adventures  and 
other  feats  of  arms  and  great  prowess,  from  the  year  of  grace 
1326,  when  he  was  crowned  in  England.” 

Of  course  Froissart  says  that  the  occasion  of  these  wars 
was  King  Edward’s  enterprise  to  recover  his  inheritance  of 
France,  which  the  twelve  peers  and  barons  of  that  realm 
had  awarded  to  Lord  Philip  of  Valois,  from  whom  it  had 


1 Chroniques  de  J.  Froissart,  ed.  S.  Luce  (Societe  de  l’Histoire  de  France). 
The  opening  of  the  Prologue.  It  seemed  desirable  to  render  this  sentence  literally. 
The  rest  of  my  extracts  are  from  Thomas  Johnes’s  translation,  for  which  I plead  a 
boyhood’s  affection.  For  a brief  account  of  Froissart’s  chief  source  (Jean  le  Bel), 
with  excellent  criticism,  see  W.  P.  Ker,  “Froissart”  ( Essays  on  Medieval  Literatun) 
Macmillan  and  Co.,  1905). 


chap,  xxiii  FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD  567 


passed  on  to  his  son,  King  Charles.  This  enterprise  was 
the  woof  whereon  should  hang  an  hundred  years  of  knightly 
and  romantic  feats  of  arms,  which  incidentally  wrought 
desolation  to  the  fair  realm  of  France.  Yet  the  full  opening 
of  these  matters  was  not  yet;  and  Froissart  begins  with  the 
story  of  the  troubles  brought  on  Queen  Isabella  and  the 
nobles  of  England  through  the  overbearing  insolence  of  Sir 
Hugh  Spencer,  the  favourite  of  her  husband  Edward  II. 

The  Queen  left  England  secretly,  to  seek  aid  at  Paris 
from  her  brother  King  Charles,  that  she  might  regain  her 
rights  against  the  upstart  and  her  own  weak  estranged 
husband.  King  Charles  received  her  graciously,  as  a great 
lord  should  receive  a great  dame ; and  richly  provided  for 
her  and  her  young  son  Edward.  Then  he  took  counsel  of 
the  “ great  lords  and  barons  of  his  kingdom”;  and  their 
advice  was  that  he  should  permit  her  to  enlist  assistance  in 
his  realm,  and  yet  himself  appear  ignorant  of  the  matter. 
Of  this,  Sir  Hugh  hears,  and  his  gold  is  busy  with  these 
counsellors ; so  that  the  Court  becomes  a cold  place  for  the 
self-exiled  queen.  On  she  fares  in  her  distress,  and,  as 
advised,  seeks  the  aid  of  the  great  Earl  of  Hainault,  then  at 
Valenciennes.  But  before  the  queen  can  reach  that  city,  the 
earl’s  young  brother,  Sir  John,  Lord  of  Beaumont,  rides 
to  meet  her,  ardent  to  succour  a great  lady  in  distress, 
“ being  at  that  time  very  young,  and  panting  for  glory  like 
a knight-errant.”  In  the  evening  he  reached  the  house  of  Sir 
Eustace  d’Ambreticourt,  where  the  queen  was  lodged.  She 
made  her  lamentable  complaint,  at  which  Sir  John  was 
affected  even  to  tears,  and  said,  “Lady,  see  here  your  knight, 
who  will  not  fail  to  die  for  you,  though  every  one  else 
should  desert  you ; therefore  will  I do  everything  in  my 
power  to  conduct  you  and  your  son,  and  to  restore  you 
to  your  rank  in  England,  by  the  grace  of  God,  and  the 
assistance  of  your  friends  in  those  parts ; and  I,  and  all 
those  whom  I can  influence,  will  risk  our  lives  on  the 
adventure  for  your  sake.” 

Is  not  this  a chivalric  beginning?  And  so  the  Chronicle 
goes  on.  King  Edward  III.  is  crowned,  marries  the  Lady 
Philippa,  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Hainault,  and  afterwards 
sends  his  defiance  to  Philip,  King  of  France,  for  not  yielding 


568 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


up  to  him  his  rightful  inheritance,  and  this  after  the  same 
King  Edward  had,  as  Duke  of  Aquitaine,  done  homage  to 
King  Philip  for  that  great  duchy. 

So  the  challenge  of  King  Edward,  and  of  sundry  other 
lords,  was  delivered  to  the  King  of  France;  and  thereupon 
the  first  bold  raid  is  made  by  the  knightliest  figure  of  the 
first  generation  of  the  war,  Sir  Walter  Manny,  a young 
Hainaulter  who  had  remained  in  the  train  of  Queen 
Philippa.  The  war  is  carried  on  by  incursions  and  deeds  of 
derring-do,  the  larger  armies  of  the  kings  of  England  and 
France  circumspectly  refraining  from  battle,  which  might 
have  checked  the  martial  jollity  of  the  affair.  It  is  all 
beautifully  pointless  and  adventurous,  and  carried  out  in  the 
spirit  of  a knighthood  that  loves  fighting  and  seeks  honour 
and  adventure,  while  steadying  itself  with  a hope  of  plunder 
and  reward.  There  are  likewise  ladies  to  be  succoured  and 
defended. 

One  of  these  was  the  lion-hearted  Countess  of  Montfort, 
who  with  her  husband  had  become  possessed  of  the 
disputed  dukedom  of  Brittany.  The  Earl  of  Montfort  did 
homage  to  the  King  of  England ; the  rival  claimant,  Charles 
of  Blois,  sought  the  aid  of  France.  He  came  with  an  army, 
and  Montfort  was  taken  and  died  in  prison;  the  duchess 
was  left  to  carry  on  the  war.  She  was  at  last  shut  up  and 
besieged  in  Hennebon  on  the  coast;  the  burghers  were 
falling  away,  the  knights  discouraged ; emissaries  from  Lord 
Charles  were  working  among  them.  His  ally,  Lord  Lewis 
of  Spain,  and  Sir  Herve  de  Leon  were  the  leaders  of  the 
besiegers.  Sir  Herve  had  an  uncle,  a bishop,  Sir  Guy  de 
Leon,  who  was  on  the  side  of  the  Countess  of  Montfort. 
The  nephew  won  the  uncle  over  in  a conference  without  the 
walls;  and  the  latter  assumed  the  task  of  persuading  the 
Lords  of  Brittany  who  were  with  the  countess  to  abandon 
the  apparently  hopeless  struggle.  Re-entering  the  town, 
the  bishop  was  eloquent  against  the  countess’s  cause,  and 
promised  free  pardon  to  the  lords  if  they  would  give 
up  the  town.  Now  listen  to  Froissart,  how  he  tells  the 
story : 

“The  countess  had  strong  suspicions  of  what  was  going 
forward,  and  begged  of  the  lords  of  Brittany,  for  the  love  of  God, 


chap,  xxiii  FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD  569 


that  they  would  not  doubt  but  she  should  receive  succours  before 
three  days  were  over.  But  the  bishop  spoke  so  eloquently,  and 
made  use  of  such  good  arguments,  that  these  lords  were  in  much 
suspense  all  that  night.  On  the  morrow  he  continued  the  subject, 
and  succeeded  so  far  as  to  gain  them  over,  or  very  nearly  so,  to  his 
opinion;  insomuch  that  Sir  Herve  de  Leon  had  advanced  close 
to  the  town  to  take  possession  of  it,  with  their  free  consent,  when 
the  countess  looking  out  from  a window  of  the  castle  toward  the 
sea,  cried  out  most  joyfully,  ‘I  see  the  succours  I have  so  long 
expected  and  wished  for  coming.’  She  repeated  this  twice;  and 
the  town’s  people  ran  to  the  ramparts  and  to  the  windows  of  the 
castle,  and  saw  a numerous  fleet  of  great  and  small  vessels,  well 
trimmed,  making  all  the  sail  they  could  toward  Hennebon. 
They  rightly  imagined  it  must  be  the  fleet  from  England,  so  long 
detained  at  sea  by  tempests  and  contrary  winds. 

“When  the  governor  of  Guingamp,  Sir  Yves  de  Tresiquidi, 
Sir  Galeran  de  Landreman,  and  the  other  knights,  perceived  this 
succour  coming  to  them,  they  told  the  bishop  that  he  might  break 
up  his  conference,  for  they  were  not  now  inclined  to  follow  his 
advice.  The  bishop,  Sir  Guy  de  Leon,  replied,  ‘ My  lords,  then  our 
company  shall  separate;  for  I will  go  to  him  who  seems  to  me 
to  have  the  clearest  right.’  Upon  which  he  sent  his  defiance  to 
the  lady,  and  to  all  her  party,  and  left  the  town  to  inform  Sir 
Herve  de  Leon  how  matters  stood.  Sir  Herve  was  much  vexed 
at  it,  and  immediately  ordered  the  largest  machine  that  was 
with  the  army  to  be  placed  as  near  the  castle  as  possible,  strictly 
commanding  that  it  should  never  cease  working  day  or  night. 
He  then  presented  his  uncle  to  the  Lord  Lewis  of  Spain,  and  to 
the  Lord  Charles  of  Blois,  who  both  received  him  most  courteously. 
The  countess,  in  the  meantime,  prepared  and  hung  with  tapestry 
halls  and  chambers  to  lodge  handsomely  the  lords  and  barons  of 
England,  whom  she  saw  coming,  and  sent  out  a noble  company 
to  meet  them.  When  they  were  landed,  she  went  herself  to  give 
them  welcome,  respectfully  thanking  each  knight  and  squire, 
and  led  them  into  the  town  and  castle  that  they  might  have  con- 
venient lodging : on  the  morrow,  she  gave  them  a magnificent 
entertainment.  All  that  night,  and  the  following  day,  the  large 
machine  never  ceased  from  casting  stones  into  the  town. 

“After  the  entertainment,  Sir  Walter  Manny,  who  was  captain 
of  the  English,  inquired  of  the  countess  the  state  of  the  town  and 
the  enemy’s  army.  Upon  looking  out  of  the  window,  he  said,  he 
had  a great  inclination  to  destroy  that  large  machine  which  was 
placed  so  near,  and  much  annoyed  them,  if  any  would  help  him. 
Sir  Yves  de  Tresiquidi  replied,  that  he  would  not  fail  him  in  this 


57o 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


his  first  expedition;  as  did  also  the  lord  of  Landreman.  They 
went  to  arm  themselves,  and  then  sallied  quietly  out  of  one  of  the 
gates,  taking  with  them  three  hundred  archers,  who  shot  so  well, 
that  those  who  guarded  the  machine  fled,  and  the  men  at  arms, 
who  followed  the  archers,  falling  upon  them,  slew  the  greater 
part,  and  broke  down  and  cut  in  pieces  this  large  machine.  They 
then  dashed  in  among  the  tents  and  huts,  set  fire  to  them,  and 
killed  and  wounded  many  of  their  enemies  before  the  army  was 
in  motion.  After  this  they  made  a handsome  retreat.  When 
the  enemy  were  mounted  and  armed  they  galloped  after  them 
like  madmen. 

“Sir  Walter  Manny,  seeing  this,  exclaimed,  ‘May  I never  be 
embraced  by  my  mistress  and  dear  friend,  if  I enter  castle  or 
fortress  before  I have  unhorsed  one  of  these  gallopers. ’ He  then 
turned  round,  and  pointed  his  spear  toward  the  enemy,  as  did 
the  two  brothers  of  Lande-Halie,  le  Haze  de  Brabant,  Sir  Yves  de 
Tresiquidi,  Sir  Galeran  de  Landreman,  and  many  others,  and 
spitted  the  first  coursers.  Many  legs  were  made  to  kick  the  air. 
Some  of  their  own  party  were  also  unhorsed.  The  conflict  became 
very  serious,  for  reinforcements  were  perpetually  coming  from  the 
camp ; and  the  English  were  obliged  to  retreat  towards  the  castle, 
which  they  did  in  good  order  until  they  came  to  the  castle  ditch ; 
then  the  knights  made  a stand,  until  all  their  men  were  safely 
returned.  Many  brilliant  actions,  captures,  and  rescues  might 
have  been  seen.  Those  of  the  town  who  had  not  been  of  the  party 
to  destroy  the  large  machine  now  issued  forth,  and,  ranging  them- 
selves upon  the  banks  of  the  ditch,  made  such  good  use  of  their 
bows,  that  they  forced  the  enemy  to  withdraw,  killing  many  men 
and  horses.  The  chiefs  of  the  army,  perceiving  they  had  the 
worst  of  it,  and  that  they  were  losing  men  to  no  purpose,  sounded 
a retreat,  and  made  their  men  retire  to  the  camp.  As  soon  as 
they  were  gone,  the  townsmen  re-entered,  and  went  each  to  his 
quarters.  The  Countess  of  Montfort  came  down  from  the  castle 
to  meet  them,  and  with  a most  cheerful  countenance,  kissed  Sir 
Walter  Manny,  and  all  his  companions,  one  after  the  other  like  a 
noble  and  valiant  dame.” 

In  this  manner  the  general  chronicler  goes  on  through  his 
long  delightful  ramble.  After  a while  the  chief  combatants 
close.  Cressy  is  fought  and  Poictiers.  The  Black  Prince, 
that  extremest  bit  of  knightly  royalty,  fills  the  page.  The 
place  of  Sir  Walter  Manny  is  taken  by  the  larger  figure  of 
Sir  John  Chandos,  and,  on  the  other  side,  the  usually  un- 


chap,  xxiii  FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD  571 


fortunate  but  unconquerable  Bertrand  du  Guesclin.  Froissart 
is  at  his  best  when  he  tells  of  the  great  expedition  of  the 
Black  Prince  to  restore  the  cruel  Don  Pedro  of  Castille  to 
the  throne  from  which  he  had  been  expelled  by  that 
picturesque  bastard  brother  Plenry,  who  had  a poorer  title 
but  a better  right,  by  virtue  of  being  fit  to  rule. 

This  whole  expedition  was — as  we  see  it  in  Froissart — 
neither  politics  nor  war,  but  chivalry.  What  interest  had 
England,  or  Edward  III.,  or  the  Prince  of  Wales  in  Don 
Pedro?  None.  He  was  a cruel  tyrant,  rightfully  expelled. 
The  Prince  of  Wales  would  set  him  back  upon  his  throne  in 
the  interest  of  royal  legitimacy,  and  because  there  offered  a 
brilliant  opportunity  for  fame  and  plunder : the  Black  Prince 
thought  less  of  the  latter  than  the  Free  Companies  enlisted 
under  his  banner,  and  less  than  his  own  rapacious  knights. 

So  in  three  divisions,  headed  by  the  most  famous 
knights  and  in  a way  generalled  by  Sir  John  Chandos,  the 
host  passes  through  the  kingdom  of  Navarre,  and  crosses  the 
Pyrenees.  Then  begin  a series  of  exploits.  Sir  Thomas 
Felton  and  a company  set  out  just  to  dare  and  beard  the 
Castillian  army,  and  after  entrancing  feats  of  knight-errantry, 
are  all  captured  or  slain.  Much  is  the  prince  annoyed  at  this ; 
but  bears  on,  gladdened  with  the  thought,  often  expressed, 
that  the  bastard  Henry  is  a bold  and  hardy  knight,  and  is 
advancing  to  give  battle. 

And  true  it  was.  One  of  Henry’s  counsellors  explains 
to  him  how  easy  it  were  to  hem  in  the  Black  Prince  in  the 
defiles,  and  starve  him  into  a disastrous  retreat.  Perish  the 
thought!  “By  the  soul  of  my  father,”  answers  King 
Henry,  “I  have  such  a desire  to  see  this  prince,  and  to  try 
my  strength  with  him,  that  we  will  never  part  without  a 
battle.” 

So  the  unnecessary  and  resultless  battle  of  Navaretta 
took  place.  Don  Pedro,  the  cruel  rightful  king,  was  knighted, 
with  others,  by  the  Prince  of  Wales  before  the  fight.  The 
tried  unflinching  chivalry  of  England  and  Aquitaine  con- 
quered, although  one  division  of  King  Henry’s  host  had  du 
Guesclin  at  its  head.  That  knight  was  captured ; some- 
how his  star  had  a way  of  sinking  before  the  steadier  fortune 
of  Sir  John  Chandos,  who  was  here  du  Guesclin’s  captor  for  a 


572 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


second  time.  King  Henry,  after  valiant  fighting,  escaped. 
Don  Pedro  was  re-set  upon  his  throne ; and  played  false 
with  the  Black  Prince  and  his  army,  in  the  matter  of  pay. 
The  whole  expedition  turned  back  across  the  Pyrenees. 
And  not  so  long  after,  Henry  bestirred  himself,  and  the 
tardily  freed  du  Guesclin  hurried  again  to  aid  him.  This 
time  there  was  no  Black  Prince  and  Sir  John  Chandos ; and 
Don  Pedro  was  conquered  and  slain,  and  Henry  was  at  last 
firm  upon  his  throne. 

Could  anything  have  been  more  chivalric,  more  object- 
less, and  more  absolutely  lacking  in  result?  It  is  a beautiful 
story ; every  one  should  refresh  his  childhood’s  memory  of  it 
by  reading  Froissart’s  delightful  pages.  And  then  let  him 
also  read  at  least  the  subsequent  story  of  the  death  of  Sir 
John  Chandos  in  a knightly  brush  at  arms ; he,  the  really 
wise  and  great  leader,  perishes  through  his  personal  rash 
knighthood ! It  is  a fine  tale  of  the  ending  of  an  old  and 
mighty  knight,  the  very  flower  of  chivalry,  as  he  was  called. 

So  matters  fare  on  through  these  Chronicles.  All  is 
charming  and  interesting  and  picturesque;  charming  also 
for  the  knights : great  fame  is  won  and  fat  ransoms  paid 
to  recoup  knightly  fortunes.  Now  and  then — all  too 
frequently,  alas!  and  the  only  pity  of ’it  all! — some  brave 
knight  has  the  mishap  to  lose  his  life ! That  is  to  say,  the 
only  pity  of  it  from  the  point  of  view  of  good  Sir  John. 
But  we  can  see  further  horrors  in  this  picture  of  chivalry’s 
actualities : we  see  King  Edward  pillage,  devastate,  destroy 
France ; 1 we  see  the  awful  outcome  of  the  general  ruin  in 
the  rising  of  the  vile,  unhappy  peasants,  the  Jacquerie ; then 
in  the  indiscriminate  slaughter  and  pillaging  by  the  Free 
Companies,  no  longer  well  employed  by  royalties ; and 
then  we  see  the  cruel  treachery  of  many  an  incident 
wrought  out  by  such  a flower  of  chivalry  even  as  du 
Guesclin.2  Indeed  all  the  horrors  of  ceaseless  interminable 
war  are  everywhere,  and  no  more  dreadful  horror  through 
the  whole  story  than  the  bloody  sack  of  Limoges  commanded 
by  that  perfect  knight,  the  Black  Prince,  himself  stricken 
with  disease,  and  carried  in  a litter  through  the  breach  of 
the  walls  into  the  town,  and  there  reposing,  assuaging  his 

1 Froissart,  i.  210.  2 Froissart,  i.  220. 


chap,  xxiii  FEUDALISM  AND  KNIGHTHOOD  573 


cruel  soul,  while  his  men  run  hither  and  thither  “ slaying 
men,  women  and  children  according  to  their  orders.”  1 

But  when  King  Edward  was  old,  and  the  Prince  of 
Wales  dying  with  disease,  the  French  and  their  partisans 
gathered  heart,  and  pressed  back  the  English  party  with 
successful  captures  and  reprisals.  Du  Guesclin  was  made 
Constable  of  France ; and  there  remained  no  English  leader 
who  was  his  match.  From  this  second  period  onwards,  the 
wars  and  slaughters  and  pillagings  become  more  embittered, 
more  horrid  and  less  relieved.  The  tone  of  everything 
is  brutalized,  and  the  good  chronicler  himself  frequently 
animadverts  on  the  wanton  destruction  wrought,  and  the 
frightful  ruin.  All  is  not  as  in  the  opening  of  the  story, 
wThich  was  so  fascinating,  so  knightly  and  almost  as  purely 
adventurous  as  the  Arthurian  romances — only  that  there 
was  less  love  of  ladies  and  a disturbing  dearth  of  forests 
perilous  and  enchanted  castles.  It  was  then  that  the 
reader  had  ever  and  anon  to  remind  himself  that  Froissart  is 
not  romance  or  legend,  but  a contemporary  chronicle ; and 
that  in  spite  of  heightened  colours  and  expanded  (if  not 
invented)  dialogues,  his  narrative  does  not  belong  to  the 
imaginative  or  fictitious  side  of  chivalry,  but  to  its 
actualities.2 

Froissart’s  pictures  of  the  depravity  and  devastation 
caused  by  the  wars  of  England  and  France,  disclose  the 
unhappy  actuality  in  which  chivalry  might  move  and  have 
its  being.  And  the  knights  were  part  of  the  cruelty, 
treachery,  and  lust.  One  may  remark  besides  in  Froissart 
a certain  shallowness,  a certain  emptying,  of  the  spirit  of 
chivalry.  One  phase  of  this  lay  in  the  expansion  of  form 
and  ceremony,  while  life  was  departing; — as,  for  example, 
in  the  hypertrophe  of  heraldry,  and  in  the  pageantry  of  the 
later  tournaments,  where  such  care  was  taken  to  prevent 
injury  to  the  combatants.  A subtler  phase  of  chivalry’s 
emptying  lay  in  its  preciosity  and  in  the  excessive  growth 
of  fantasy  and  utter  romance — of  which  enough  will  be  said 
in  the  next  chapter. 


1 Froissart,  i.  290. 

2 Yet  the  matter  was  fit  for  legend  and  romance;  and  a late  impotent  chanson 
de  gcste  was  formed  out  of  the  career  of  du  Guesclin. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

ROMANTIC  CHIVALRY  AND  COURTLY  LOVE 

From  Roland  to  Tristan  and  Lancelot 

The  ins  lance  of  Godfrey  of  Bouillon  showed  how  easy  was 
the  passage  from  knighthood  in  history  to  knighthood  in 
legend  and  romance : legend  springing  from  fact,  out  of 
which  it  makes  a story  framed  in  a picture  of  the  time ; 
romance  unhistorical  in  origin,  borrowing,  devising,  imagin- 
ing according  to  the  taste  of  an  audience  and  the  faculty  of 
the  trouvere.  A boundless  mediaeval  literature  of  poetic 
legend  and  romantic  fiction  sets  forth  the  ways  of  chivalry. 
Our  attention  may  be  confined  to  the  Old  French,  the  source 
from  which  German,  English,  and  Italian  literatures  never 
ceased  to  draw.  Three  branches  may  be  selected : the 

chansons  de  geste;  the  romans  d’aventure ; and  the  Arthu- 
rian romances.  The  subjects  of  the  three  are  distinct, 
and  likewise  the  tone  and  manner  of  treatment.  Yet  they 
were  not  unaffected  by  each  other;  for  instance,  the  hard 
feudal  spirit  of  the  chansons  de  geste  became  touched  with 
the  tastes  which  moulded  the  two  other  groups,  and  there 
was  even  a borrowing  of  topic.  This  was  natural,  as  the 
periods  of  their  composition  overlapped,  and  doubtless 
their  audiences  were  in  part  the  same. 

The  chansons  de  geste  (gesta  = deeds)  were  epic  narratives 
with  historical  facts  for  subjects,  and  commonly  were  com- 
posed in  ten-syllable  assonanced  or  (later)  rhyming  couplets, 
laisses  so  called,  the  same  final  assonance  or  rhyme  extending 
through  a dozen  or  so  lines.  They  told  the  deeds  of 
Charlemagne  and  his  barons,  or  the  feuds  of  the  barons 

574 


CHAP.  XXIV 


ROMANTIC  CHIVALRY 


575 


among  themselves,  especially  those  of  the  time  following  the 
emperor’s  death.  So  the  subject  might  be  national,  for 
instance  the  war  against  the  Saracens  in  Spain ; or  it  might 
be  more  provincially  feudal  in  every  sense  of  the  latter 
word.1  It  is  not  to  our  purpose  to  discuss  how  these  poems 
grew  through  successive  generations,  nor  how  much  of 
Teutonic  spirit  they  put  in  Romance  forms  of  verse.  They 
were  composed  by  trouveres  or  jongleurs.  The  Roland  is 
the  earliest  of  them,  and  in  its  extant  form  belongs  to  the 
last  part  of  the  eleventh  century.  One  or  two  others  are 
nearly  as  early ; but  the  vast  majority,  as  we  have  them,  are 
the  creations,  or  rather  the  remaniements , of  the  twelfth  and 
thirteenth  centuries. 

These  chansons  present  the  feudal  system  in  epic  action. 
They  blazon  forth  its  virtues  and  its  horrors.  The  heroes 
are  called  barons  (her)  and  also  chevaliers ; 2 vassalage  and 
prowess  (proecce)  are  closely  joined ; the  Roland  speaks  of 
the  vassalage  of  Charles  le  her  (Charlemagne).  The  usages 
of  chivalry  are  found : 3 a baron  begins  as  enfant , and  does 
his  youthful  feats  ( enfances ) ; then  he  is  girt  with  manhood’s 
sword  and  given  the  thwack  which  dubs  him  chevalier. 
Naturally,  the  chivalry  of  the  chansons  is  feudal  rather  than 
romantic.  It  is  chivalry,  sometimes  crusading  against 
“felun  paien,”  sometimes  making  war  against  emperors  or 
rivals;  always  truculent,  yet  fighting  for  an  object  and  not 
for  pure  adventure’s  sake  or  the  love  of  ladies.  The  motives 
of  action  are  quite  tangible,  and  the  tales  reflect  actual 
situations  and  conditions.  They  tell  what  knights  (the 
chevaliers  and  barons)  really  did,  though,  of  course,  the 
particular  incidents  related  may  not  be  historical.  Naturally 
they  speak  from  the  time  of  their  composition.  The  Roland , 

1 On  the  chansons  de  geste  see  Gaston  Paris,  Litterature  Jranqaise  au  moyen 
dge  ; Leon  Gautier  in  Petit  de  Julleville’s  Histoire  de  la  langue  et  de  la  litterature  Jran- 
qaise, vol.  i. ; more  at  length  Gautier,  Epopees  nationales,  and  Paulin  Paris  in  vol. 
2 2^of  L'  Histoire  litter  air  e de  France;  also  Nyrop,  Storia  dell ' epopea  francese  nel  medio 
evo.  Ample  bibliographies  will  be  found  in  these  works. 

2 On  the  field  of  Roncesvalles,  Roland  folds  the  hands  of  the  dead  Archbishop 
Turpin,  and  grieves  over  him,  beginning : 

“E!  gentilz  hum  chevaliers  de  bon  aire,  . . .” 

( Roland , line  2252). 

3 Leon  Gautier,  in  his  Chevalerie,  makes  the  chansons  de  geste  his  chief 


source. 


576 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND  book  iv 


for  example,  throbs  with  the  crusading  wrath  of  the  eleventh 
century — a new  fervour,  and  no  passionate  memory  of  the 
old  obscure  disaster  of  Roncesvalles.  It  does  not  speak 
from  the  time  of  the  great  emperor.  For  when  Charlemagne 
lived  there  was  neither  a “dulce  France”  nor  the  sentiment 
which  enshrined  it ; nor  was  there  a sharply  deliminated 
feudal  Christianity  set  over  against  a world  of  “felun  paien” 
— those  false  paynim,  who  should  be  trusted  by  no  Christian 
baron.  The  whole  poem  revolves  around  a treason  plotted 
by  a renegade  among  vile  infidels. 

In  this  rude  poem  which  carries  the  noblest  spirit  of  the 
chansons  de  geste , the  soul  of  feudal  chivalry  climbs  to  its 
height  of  loyal  expiation  for  overweening  bravery.  The 
battle-note  is  given  in  Roland’s  words,  as  Oliver  descries  the 
masses  of  paynim  closing  in  around  that  valiant  rear-guard. 

Said  Oliver:  “Sir  comrade,  I think  we  shall  have  battle 
with  these  Saracens.” 

Replied  Roland:  “God  grant  it!  Here  must  we  hold 
for  our  king.  A man  should  suffer  for  his  lord,  endure  heat 
and  cold,  though  he  lose  his  hair  and  hide.  Let  each  one 
strike  his  best,  that  no  evil  song  be  sung  of  us.  The  paynim 
are  in  the  wrong,  Christians  in  the  right !”  1 

Then  follows  Oliver’s  prudent  solicitation,  and  Roland’s 
fatal  refusal  to  sound  his  horn  and  recall  Charles  and  his 
host:  “Please  God  and  His  holy  angels,  France  shall  not  be 
so  shamed  through  me ; better  death  than  such  dishonour. 
The  harder  we  strike,  the  more  the  emperor  will  love  us.” 
Oliver  can  be  stubborn  too ; for  when  the  fight  is  close  to 
its  fell  end,  he  swears  that  Roland  shall  never  wed  his  sister 
Aude,  if,  beaten,  he  sound  that  horn.2 . 

The  paynim  host  is  shattered  and  riven;  but  nearly  all 
the  Franks  have  fallen.  Roland  looks  upon  the  mountains 
and  the  plain.  Of  those  of  France  he  sees  so  many  lying 
dead,  and  he  laments  them  like  a high-born  knight  (< chevaliers 
gentilz).  “ Seigneur  barons , may  God  have  pity  on  you  and 
grant  Paradise  to  your  souls,  and  give  them  to  repose  on 
holy  flowers ! Better  vassals  shall  I never  see ; long  are 
the  years  that  you  have  served  me,  and  conquered  wide 
countries  for  Charles — the  emperor  has  nurtured  you  for  an 

2 1051  sqq.  and  1700  sqq. 


1 1006-1016. 


CHAP.  XXIV 


ROMANTIC  CHIVALRY 


577 


ill  end ! Land  of  France,  sweet  land,  to-day  bereft  of 
barons  of  high  prize ! Barons  of  France ! for  me  I see  you 
dying.  I cannot  save  or  defend  you ! God  be  your  aid, 
who  never  lies ! Oliver,  brother,  you  I must  not  fail. 
I shall  die  of  grief,  if  no  one  slay  me ! Sir  comrade,  let  us 
strike  again.”  1 

Roland  and  Oliver  are  almost  alone,  and  Oliver  receives 
a death-stroke.  With  his  last  strength  he  slays  his  slayer, 
shouts  his  defiance,  and  calls  Roland  to  his  aid.  He  strikes 
on  blindly  as  Roland  comes  and  looks  into  his  face; — and 
then  might  you  have  seen  Roland  swoon  on  his  horse,  and 
Oliver  wounded  to  death.  “He  had  bled  so  much,  that  his 
eyes  were  troubled,  and  he  could  not  see  to  recognize  any 
mortal  man.  As  he  met  his  comrade,  he  struck  him  on  his 
helmet  a blow  that  cut  it  shear  in  twain,  though  the  sword 
did  not  touch  the  head.  At  this  Roland  looked  at  him,  and 
asked  him  soft  and  low:  ‘Sir  comrade,  did  you  mean  that? 
It  is  Roland,  who  loves  you  well.  You  have  not  defied  me.’ 

“Says  Oliver,  ‘Now  I hear  you  speak;  I did  not  see 
you ; may  the  Lord  God  see  you ! I have  struck  you ; for 
which  pardon  me.’  ” 

Roland  replied:  “I  was  not  hurt.  I pardon  you  here 
and  before  God.” 

“At  this  word  they  bent  over  each  other,  and  in  such 
love  they  parted.”  Oliver  feels  his  death-anguish  at  hand ; 
sight  and  hearing  fail  him : he  sinks  from  his  horse  and 
lies  on  the  earth ; he  confesses  his  sins,  with  his  two  hands 
joined  toward  heaven.  He  prays  God  to  grant  him  Para- 
dise, and  blesses  Charles  and  sweet  France,  and  his  comrade 
Roland  above  all  men.  Stretched  on  the  ground  the  count 
lies  dead.2 

A little  after,  when  Roland  and  Turpin  the  stout  arch- 
bishop have  made  their  last  charge,  and  the  paynim  have 
withdrawn,  and  the  archbishop  too  lies  on  the  ground,  just 
breathing;  then  it  is  that  Roland  gathers  the  bodies  of  the 
peers  and  carries  them  one  by  one  to  lay  them  before  the 
archbishop  for  his  absolution.  He  finds  Oliver’s  body,  and 
tightly  straining  it  to  his  heart,  lays  it  with  the  rest  before 
the  archbishop,  whose  dying  breath  is  blessing  and  absolving 

1 1851-1868.  2 1940-2023. 


VOL.  I 


2 P 


578 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


his  companions.  And  with  tears  Roland’s  voice  breaks : 
“ Sweet  comrade,  Oliver,  son  of  the  good  count  Renier,  who 
held  the  March  of  Geneva ; to  break  spear  and  pierce  shield, 
and  counsel  loyally  the  good,  and  discomfit  and  vanquish 
villains,  in  no  land  was  there  better  knight.”  1 Knowing  his 
own  death  near,  Roland  tries  to  shatter  his  great  sword,  and 
then  lies  down  upon  it  with  his  face  toward  Spain ; he  holds 
up  his  glove  toward  God  in  token  of  fealty ; Gabriel  accepts 
his  glove  and  the  angels  receive  his  soul. 

This  was  the  best  of  knighthood  in  the  best  of  the 
chansons:  and  we  see  how  close  it  was  to  what  was  best 
in  life.  As  the  fight  moves  on  to  Oliver’s  blow  and  Roland’s 
pardon,  to  Roland’s  last  deeds  of  Christian  comradeship,  and 
to  his  death,  the  eyes  are  critical  indeed  that  do  not  swell 
with  tears.  The  heroic  pathos  of  this  rough  poem  is  great 
because  the  qualities  which  perished  at  Roncesvalles  were  so 
noble  and  so  knightly. 

The  poem  passes  on  to  the  vengeance  taken  by  the 
emperor  upon  the  Saracens,  then  to  his  return  to  Aix,  and 
the  short  great  scene  between  him  and  Aude,  Roland’s 
betrothed : 

“ Where  is  Roland,  the  chief,  who  vowed  to  take  me  for 
his  wife?” 

Charles  weeps,  and  tears  his  white  beard  as  he  answers : 
“ Sister,  dear  friend,  you  are  asking  about  a dead  man.  But 
I will  make  it  good  to  thee — there  is  Louis  my  son,  who 
holds  the  Marches.  . . .” 

Aude  replies:  “ Strange  words!  God  forbid,  and  His 
saints  and  angels,  that  I should  live  after  Roland.”  And 
she  falls  dead  at  the  emperor’s  feet. 

As  was  fitting,  the  poem  closes  with  the  trial  of  the 
traitor  Ganelon,  by  combat.  His  defence  is  feudal : he  had 
defied  Roland  and  all  his  companions;  his  treachery  was 
proper  vengeance  and  not  treason.  But  his  champion  is 
defeated,  and  Ganelon  himself  is  torn  in  pieces  by  horses, 
while  his  relatives,  pledged  as  hostages,  are  hanged.  All  of 
which  is  feudalism,  and  can  be  matched  for  savagery  in 
many  a scene  from  the  Arthurian  romances  of  chivalry — 
not  always  reproduced  in  modern  versions. 

1 2164  sqq. 


CHAP.  XXIV 


ROMANTIC  CHIVALRY 


579 


So  the  chansons  de  geste  are  a mirror  of  the  ways  and 
customs  of  feudal  society  in  the  twelfth  century.  The 
feudal  virtues  are  there,  troth  to  one’s  liege,  orthodox 
crusading  ardour,  limitless  valour,  truth-speaking.  There  is 
also  enormous  brutality;  and  the  recognized  feudal  vices, 
cruelty,  impiousness,  and  treason.  In  the  Raoul  de  Cambrai , 
for  example,  the  nominal  hero  is  a paroxysm  of  ferocity  and 
impiety.  All  crimes  rejoice  him  as  he  rages  along  his 
ruthless  way  to  establish  his  seignorial  rights  over  a fief 
unjustly  awarded  him  by  Louis,  the  weak  son  of  Charlemagne. 
His  foil  is  Bernier,  the  natural  son  of  one  of  the  rightful 
heirs  against  whom  Raoul  carries  on  raging  feudal  war. 
But  Bernier  is  also  Raoul’s  squire  and  vassal,  who  had 
received  knighthood  from  him,  and  so  is  bound  to  the 
monster  by  the  strongest  feudal  tie.  He  is  a pattern  of 
knighthood  and  of  every  feudal  virtue.  On  the  day  of  his 
knighting  he  implored  his  lord  not  to  enter  on  that  fell  war 
against  his  (Bernier’s)  family.  In  vain.  The  war  is  begun 
with  fire  and  sword.  Bernier  must  support  his  lord ; says 
he:  “ Raoul,  my  lord,  is  worse  ( plu  jel ) than  Judas;  he 
is  my  lord ; he  has  given  me  horse  and  clothes,  my  arms 
and  cloth  of  gold.  I would  not  fail  him  for  the  riches  of 
Damascus”  : and  all  cried,  “Bernier,  thou  art  right.”  1 

But  there  is  a limit.  Raoul  is  ferociously  wasting  the 
land,  and  committing  every  impiety.  He  would  desecrate 
the  abbey  of  Origni,  and  set  his  tent  in  the  middle 
of  the  church,  stabling  his  horse  in  its  porch  and  making 
his  bed  before  the  altar.  Bernier’s  mother  is  there  as  a 
nun ; Raoul  pauses  at  her  entreaties  and  those  of  his 
uncle.  Then  his  rage  breaks  out  afresh  at  the  death  of  two 
of  his  men ; he  burns  the  town  and  abbey,  and  Bernier’s 
mother  perishes  with  the  other  nuns  in  the  flames. 

Now  the  monster  is  feasting  on  the  scene  of  desolation 
— and  it  is  Lent  besides ! After  dining,  he  plays  chess : 
enter  Bernier.  Raoul  asks  for  wine.  Bernier  takes  the  cup 
and,  kneeling,  hands  it  to  him.  Raoul  is  surprised  to  see 
him,  but  at  once  renews  his  oath  to  disinherit  all  of  Bernier’s 
family — his  father  and  uncles.  Bernier  speaks  and  re- 
proaches Raoul  with  his  mother’s  death:  “I  cannot  bring 

1 Raoul  de  Cambrai,  cited  by  Gautier,  Chevalerie,  p.  75. 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


58° 

her  back  to  life,  but  I can  aid  my  father  whom  you  unjustly 
follow  up  with  war.  I am  your  man  no  longer.  Your 
cruelty  has  released  me  from  my  duties;  and  you  will  find 
me  on  the  side  of  my  father  and  uncles  when  you  attack 
them.”  For  reply,  Raoul  breaks  his  head  open  with  the 
butt  of  his  spear ; but  then  at  once  asks  pardon  and 
humiliates  himself  strangely.  Bernier  answers  that  there 
shall  be  no  peace  between  them  till  the  blood  which  flowed 
from  his  head  returns  back  whence  it  came.  Yet  in  the 
final  battle  he  still  seeks  to  turn  Raoul  back  before  attacking 
him  who  had  been  his  liege  lord.  Again  in  vain;  and 
Raoul  falls  beneath  Bernier’s  sword.  Here  are  the  two 
sides  of  the  picture,  the  monster  of  a lord,  the  vassal  vainly 
seeking  to  be  true : a situation  utterly  tragic  from  the 
standpoint  of  feudal  chivalry. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  a huge  body  of  poetic 
narrative  could  remain  utterly  truculent.  Other  motives 
had  to  enter; — the  love  of  women,  of  which  the  Roland  has 
its  one  great  flash.  The  ladies  of  the  chansons  are  not  coy, 
and  often  make  the  first  advances.  Such  natural  lusty  love 
is  not  romantic;  it  is  not  V amour  courtois;  and  marriage 
is  its  obvious  end.  The  chansons  also  tend  to  become 
adventurous  and  to  fill  with  romantic  episode.  An 
interesting  example  of  this  is  the  Renaud  de  Montaubon 
where  Renaud  and  his  three  brothers  are  aided  by  the 
enchanter,  Maugis,  against  the  pursuing  hate  of  Charlemagne, 
and  where  the  marvellous  horse,  Bayard,  is  a fascinating 
personality.  This  diversified  and  romantic  tale  long  held  its 
own  in  many  tongues.  In  the  somewhat  later  Huon  de 
Bordeaux  we  are  at  last  in  fairyland — verily  at  the  Court  of 
Oberon — his  first  known  entry  into  literature.1  Thus  the 
chansons  tend  toward  the  tone  and  temper  of  the  romans 
d’aventure. 

The  latter  have  the  courtly  love  and  the  purely 
adventurous  motives  of  the  Arthurian  romances,  with  which 
the  men  who  fashioned  them  probably  were  acquainted, 
as  were  the  jongleurs  who  recast  certain  of  the  chansons 
de  geste  to  suit  a more  courtly  taste.  Of  the  romans 

1 Unless  indeed  Oberon,  the  fairy  king,  be  a romantic  form  of  the  Alberich  of 
the  Nibelungen  (Gaston  Paris). 


chap,  xxiv  ROMANTIC  CHIVALRY  581 

d’aventure,  so  called,  the  Blancandrin  or  the  Amadas  or  the 
Flamenca  may  be  taken  as  the  type ; or,  if  one  will,  Flore  et 
Blanchefleur  and  Aucassin  et  Nicolette , those  two  enduring 
lovers’  tales.1  Courtly  love  and  knightly  ventures  are  the 
themes  of  these  romans  so  illustrative  of  noble  French 
society  in  the  thirteenth  century.  They  differ  from  the 
Arthurian  romances  in  having  other  than  a Breton  origin; 
and  their  heroes  and  heroines  are  sometimes  of  more  easily 
imagined  historicity  than  the  knights  and  ladies  of  the 
Round  Table.  But  they  never  approached  the  universal 
vogue  of  the  Arthurian  Cycle. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  tastes  in  reading  (or  rather 
listening)  diverged  in  the  twelfth  century,  just  as  in  the 
twentieth.  One  cannot  read  the  old  chansons  de  geste  in 
which  fighting,  and  not  love,  is  the  absorbing  topic,  without 
feeling  that  the  audience  before  whom  they  were  chanted 
was  predominantly  male.  One  cannot  but  feel  the  contrary 
to  have  been  the  fact  with  the  romances  in  verse  and  prose 
which  constitute  that  immense  mass  of  literature  vaguely 
termed  Arthurian.  These  two  huge  groups,  the  chansons 
de  geste  and  the  Arthurian  romances,  overlap  chronologically 
and  geographically.  Although  the  development  of  the 
chansons  was  somewhat  earlier,  the  Arthurian  stories  were 
flourishing  before  the  chansons  were  past  their  prime ; and 
both  were  in  vogue  through  central  and  northern  France. 
But  the  Arthurian  stories  won  adoptive  homes  in  England, 
Germany,  Italy,  and  elsewhere.  Indeed  their  earlier  stages 
scarcely  seem  attached  to  real  localities : nor  were  their 
manners  and  interests  rooted  in  the  special  traditions  of  any 
definite  place. 

The  tone  and  topics  of  these  romances  suggest  an 
audience  chiefly  of  women,  and  possibly  feminine  authorship. 
Doubtless,  with  a few  exceptions,  men  composed  and  recited 
them.  But  the  male  authors  were  influenced  by  the  taste, 
the  favour  and  patronage,  and  the  sympathetic  suggestive 
interest  of  the  ladies.  Prominent  among  the  first  known 
composers  of  these  “ Breton”  lays  was  a woman,  Marie  de 

1 See  Gaston  Paris,  Lit.  franqaise,  etc.,  chaps,  iii.  and  v. ; and  fimile  Littre  in 
vol.  22  of  the  Histoire  litter  air  e de  la  France.  For  examples  of  these  romans, 
see  Langlois,  La  societe  franqaise  au  XIIe  siecle  d'apres  dix  romans  d’aventure  (2nd 
ed.,  Paris,  1904). 


582  THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND  book  iv 

France  as  she  is  called,  who  lived  in  England  in  the  reign 
of  Henry  II.  (1154-1189).  Her  younger  contemporary 
was  the  facile  trouvere  Chretien  de  Troies,  of  whose  life  little 
is  actually  known.  But  we  know  that  the  subject  of  his 
famous  Lancelot  romance,  called  the  Conte  de  la  charrette , 
was  suggested  to  him  (about  1170)  by  the  Countess  Marie 
de  Champagne,  daughter  of  Louis  VII.  Surely  then  he 
wrote  to  please  the  taste  of  that  royal  dame,  whose  queenly 
mother,  Eleanor  of  Aquitaine,  was  also  a patroness  of  this 
courtly  poetry. 

These  are  instances  proving  the  feminine  influence  upon 
the  composition  of  these  romances.  And  the  growth  of 
this  great  Arthurian  Cycle  represents,  par  excellence , the 
entry  of  womanhood  into  the  literature  of  chivalry.  Men 
love,  as  well  as  women ; but  the  topic  engrosses  them  less, 
and  they  talk  less  about  it.  Likewise  men  appreciate 
courtesy;  but  in  fact  it  is  woman’s  influence  that  softens 
manners.  And  while  the  masculine  fancy  may  be  drawn  by 
what  is  fanciful  and  romantic,  women  abandon  themselves 
to  its  charm. 

Of  course  the  origin  or  provenance  of  these  romances 
was  different  from  that  of  the  chansons  de  geste.  It  was 
Breton — it  was  Welsh,  it  was  walhisch  (the  Old-German 
word  for  the  same),  which  means  that  it  was  foreign.  In 
fact,  the  beginnings  of  these  stories  floated  beautifully  in 
from  a weiss-nicht-wo  which  in  the  twelfth  century  was 
already  hidden  in  the  clouds.  When  the  names  of  known 
localities  are  mentioned,  they  have  misty  import.  Arthurian 
geography  is  more  elusive  than  Homeric. 

In  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries  these  stories 
took  form  in  the  verse  and  prose  compositions  in  which 
they  still  exist.  Sometimes  the  poet’s  name  is  known, 
Chretien  de  Troies,  for  instance ; but  the  source  from 
which  he  drew  is  doubtful.  It  probably  was  Breton,  and 
Artus  once  in  Great  Britain  fought  the  Saxons  like  as  not. 
But  the  growth,  the  development,  the  further  composition, 
of  the  matiere  de  Bretagne  is  predominantly  French.  In 
France  it  grows ; from  France  it  passes  on  across  the  Rhine, 
across  the  Alps,  then  back  to  what  may  have  been  its  old 
home  across  the  British  Channel.  With  equal  ease  on  the 


CHAP.  XXIV 


ROMANTIC  CHIVALRY 


583 


wings  of  universal  human  interest  it  surmounts  the  Pyrenees. 
It  would  have  crossed  the  ocean,  had  the  New  World  been 
discovered. 

Far  be  it  from  our  purpose  to  enter  the  bottomless 
swamp  of  critical  discussion  of  the  source  and  history  of  the 
Arthurian  romances.  Two  or  three  statements — general 
and  probably  rather  incorrect — may  be  made.  Marie  de 
France,  soon  after  the  middle  of  the  twelfth  century,  wrote 
a number  of  shortish  narrative  poems  of  chivalric  manners 
and  romantic  love,  which,  as  it  were,  touch  the  hem  of 
Arthur’s  cloak.  Chretien  de  Troies  between  1160  and 
1175  composed  his  Tristan  (a  story  originally  having 
nothing  to  do  with  Arthur)  and  then  his  Erec  (Geraint),  then 
Cliges;  then  his  (unfinished)  Lancelot  or  the  Conte  de  la 
charrette;  then  I vain  or  the  Chevalier  au  lion , and  at  last 
Perceval  or  the  Conte  du  Graal.  How  much  of  the  matter 
of  these  poems  came  from  Brittany — or  indirectly  from 
Great  Britain?  This  is  a large  unsolved  question ! Another 
is  the  relation  of  Chretien’s  poems  to  the  subsequent 
Arthurian  romances  in  verse  and  prose.  And  perhaps 
most  disputed  of  all  is  the  authorship  (Beroul?  Robert 
de  Boron?  Walter  Mapes?)  of  this  mass  of  Arthurian  Old 
French  literature  which  was  not  the  work  of  Chretien. 
Without  lengthy  prolegomena  it  would  be  fruitless  to  attempt 
to  order  and  name  these  compositions.  The  Arthurian 
matters  were  taken  up  by  German  poets  of  excellence — 
Heinrich  von  Veldeke,  Hartmann  von  Aue,  Gottfried  von 
Strassburg,  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach, — and  sometimes  the 
best  existing  versions  are  the  work  of  the  latter ; for  instance, 
Wolfram’s  Parzival  and  Gottfried’s  Tristan.  And  again  the 
relation  of  these  German  versions  to  their  French  originals 
becomes  still  another  problem. 

For  the  chivalry  of  these  romances,  one  may  look  to  the 
poems  of  Chretien  and  to  passages  in  the  Old  French  prose 
(presumably  of  the  early  thirteenth  century),  to  which  the 
name  of  Robert  de  Boron  or  Walter  Mapes  is  attached. 
Chretien  enumerates  knightly  excellences  in  his  Cliges , and, 
speaking  from  the  natural  point  of  view  of  the  jongleur , he 
puts  largesce  (generosity)  at  their  head.  This,  says  he, 
makes  one  a prodome  more  than  hautesce  (high  station) 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


5^4 

or  corteisie  or  savoirs  or  jantillesce  (noble  birth)  or  che- 
valerie , or  hardemanz  (hardihood)  or  seignorie,  or  biautez 
(beauty) } 

Such  are  the  knightly  virtues,  which,  however,  reach 
their  full  worth  only  through  the  aid  of  that  which  makes 
perfect  the  Arthurian  knight,  the  high  love  of  ladies,  shortly 
to  be  spoken  of.  In  the  meanwhile  let  us  turn  from 
Chretien  to  the  broader  tableau  of  the  Old  French  prose, 
and  note  the  beginning  of  Artus,  as  he  is  there  called.  The 
lineage  of  the  royal  boy  remains  romantically  undiscovered, 
till  the  time  when  he  is  declared  to  be  the  king.  It  is  then 
that  he  receives  all  kinds  of  riches  from  the  lords  of  his 
realm.  He  keeps  nothing  for  himself;  but  makes  inquiry 
as  to  the  character  and  circumstances  of  his  future  knights, 
and  distributes  all  among  them  according  to  their  worth. 
This  is  the  virtue  of  largesce. 

Now  comes  the  ceremony  of  making  him  a knight,  and 
then  of  investing  him  with,  as  it  were,  the  supreme  knight- 
hood of  kingship.  The  archbishop,  it  is  told,  “fist  (made) 
Artu  chevalier,  et  celle  nuit  veilla  Artus  a la  mestre  Eglise 
(the  cathedral)  jusques  au  jour.”  Then  follows  the 
ceremony  of  swearing  allegiance  to  him ; but  Arthur  has 
not  yet  finally  taken  his  great  sword.  When  he  is  arrayed 
for  the  mass,  the  archbishop  says  to  him:  “Allez  querre 
(seek)  l’espee  et  la  jostise  dont  vos  devez  defendre  Saincte 
Eglise  et  la  crestiante  sauver.” 

“Lors  alia  la  procession  au  perron,  et  la  demanda  li  arcevesques 
a Artu,  se  il  est  tiels  que  il  osast  jurer  et  creanter  Dieu  et  madame 
Sainte  Marie  et  a tous  Sains  et  toutes  Saintes,  Sainte  Eglise  a 
sauver  et  a maintenir,  et  a tous  povres  homes  et  toutes  povres 
femmes  pais  et  loiaute  tenir,  et  conseiller  tous  desconseillies,  et 
avoier  (guide)  tous  desvoies  (erring),  et  maintenir  toutes  droitures 
et  droite  justice  a tenir,  si  alast  avant  et  priest  l’espee  dont  nostre 
sire  avoit  fait  de  lui  election.  Et  Artus  plora  et  dist:  ‘Ensi 
voirement  com  Dieus  est  sire  de  toutes  les  choses,  me  donit-il 
force  et  povoir  de  ce  maintenir  que  vous  avez  dit.’ 

“Il  fu  a genols  et  prit  l’espee  a jointes  mains  et  la  leva  de 
l’enclume  (anvil)  ausi  voirement  come  se  ele  ne  tenist  a riens ; et 
lors,  l’espee  toute  droite,  l’enmenerent  a Pautel  et  la  mist  sus; 


1 Chretien,  Cliges,  line  201  sqq. 


chap,  xxiv  ROMANTIC  CHIVALRY  585 

et  lors  il  le  pristrent  et  sacrerent  et  l’enoindrent,  et  li  firent  toutes 
iceles  choses  que  Ten  doit  faire  a roi.”  1 

All  this  is  good  chivalry  as  well  as  proper  feudalism. 
And  there  are  other  instances  of  genuine  feudalism  in  these 
Romances.  Such  is  the  scene  between  the  good  knight 
Pharien  and  the  bad  king  Claudas,  where  the  former 
renounces  his  allegiance  to  the  latter  (je  declare  renoncer  a 
vostre  fief)  and  then  declares  himself  to  be  Claudas’s  enemy, 
and  claims  the  right  to  fight  or  slay  him ; since  Claudas 
has  not  kept  troth  with  him.2 

There  is  perhaps  nothing  lovelier  in  all  these  Romances 
than  the  story  of  the  young  Lancelot,  reared  by  the  tender 
care  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake.  His  training  supplements 
the  genial  instincts  of  his  nature,  and  the  result  is  the  mirror 
of  all  knighthood’s  qualities.  He  is  noble,  he  is  true,  he 
is  perfect  in  bravery,  in  courtesy,  in  modesty,  the  Lady 
imparting  the  precepts  of  these  virtues  to  his  ready  spirit.3 
There  is  no  knightly  virtue  that  is  not  perfect  in  this 
peerless  youth,  as  he  sets  forth  to  Arthur’s  Court,  there  to 
receive  knighthood  and  prove  himself  the  peerless  knight 
and  perfect  lover.  In  this  Old  French  prose  his  career  is 
set  forth  most  completely,  and  most  correctly,  so  to  speak. 
One  or  two  points  may  be  adverted  to. 

Lancelot  is  not  strictly  Arthur’s  knight.  Originally  he 
owed  no  fealty  to  him ; and  he  avoided  receiving  his  sword 
from  the  king,  in  order  that  he  might  receive  it  from 
Guinever,  as  he  did.  And  so,  from  the  first,  Lancelot  was 
Guinever’s  knight,  as  he  was  afterwards  her  accepted  lover. 
Consequently  his  relations  to  her  broke  no  fealty  of  his  to 
Arthur. 

Again,  one  notices  that  the  absolute  character  of 
Lancelot’s  love  and  troth  to  Guinever  is  paralleled  by  the 
friendship  of  the  high  prince  Galahaut  for  him.  That  has 
the  same  precieuse  logic ; it  is  absolute.  No  act  or  thought 

1 The  Old  French  from  vol.  ii.  of  P.  Paris,  Romans  de  la  Table  Ronde,  p.  96.  One 
sees  that  the  coronation  is  a larger  knighting,  and  kingship  a larger  knight- 
hood. 

2 Romans  de  la  Table  Ronde,  iii.  96.  This  scene  closely  parallels  that  between 
Bernier  and  Raoul  de  Cambrai,  instanced  above. 

3 See  the  first  part  of  vol.  iii.  of  Romans  de  la  Table  Ronde,  especially  pp.  113- 


586 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


of  Galahaut  infringes  friendship’s  least  conceived  require- 
ment; while  conversely  that  marvellous  high  prince  leaves 
undone  no  act,  however  extreme,  which  can  carry  out  the 
logic  of  this  absolute  single-souled  devotion.  At  last  he 
dies  on  thinking  that  Lancelot  is  dead;  just  as  the  latter 
could  not  have  survived  the  death  of  Guinever.  In  spite  of 
the  beauty  of  Galahaut’s  devotion,  its  logic  and  preciosity 
scarcely  throb  with  manhood’s  blood.  It  will  not  cause  our 
eyes  to  swell  with  human  tears,  as  did  the  blind  blow  and 
the  true  words  which  passed  between  Oliver  and  Roland  at 
Roncesvalles.1 

Chivalry — the  institution  and  the  whole  knightly  char- 
acter— began  in  the  rough  and  veritable,  and  progressed 
to  courtlier  idealizations.  Likewise  that  knightly  virtue, 
love  of  woman,  displays  a parallel  evolution,  being  part  of 
the  chivalric  whole.  Beginning  in  natural  qualities,  its 
progress  is  romantic,  logical,  fantastic,  even  mystical. 

Feudal  life  in  the  earlier  mediaeval  centuries  did  not 
foster  tender  sentiments  between  betrothed  or  wedded 
couples.  The  chief  object  of  every  landholder  was  by 
force  or  policy  to  secure  his  own  safety  and  increase  his 

1 It  would  be  easy  to  go  on  drawing  illustrations  of  the  actual  and  imagina- 
tive elements  in  chivalry,  until  this  chapter  should  grow  into  an  encyclopaedia. 
They  could  so  easily  be  taken  from  many  kinds  of  mediaeval  literature  in  all  the 
mediaeval  tongues.  The  French  has  barely  been  touched  upon.  It  affords  an 
exhaustless  store.  Then  in  the  German  we  might  draw  upon  the  courtly  epics, 
Gottfried  of  Strassburg’s  Tristan  or  the  Parzival  of  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach; 
or  on  the  Nibelungenlied,  wherein  Siegfried  is  a very  knight.  Or  we  might  draw 
upon  the  knightly  precepts  (the  Ritterlehre)  of  the  Winsbeke  and  the  Winsbekin 
(printed  in  Hildebrand’s  Didaktik  aus  der  Zeit  der  Kruzzuge,  Deutsche  Nat. 
Litt.).  And  we  might  delve  in  the  great  store  of  Latin  Chronicles  which  relate 
the  mediaeval  history  of  German  kings  and  nobles.  In  Spanish,  there  would 
be  the  Cid,  and  how  much  more  besides.  In  Italian  we  should  have  latter-day 
romantic  chivalry ; Pulci’s  Rotta  di  Roncisvalle ; Boiardo’s  Orlando  innamorato ; 
Ariosto’s  Orlando  furioso;  still  later,  Tasso’s  Gerusalemme  liber ata,  which  takes 
us  well  out  of  the  Middle  Ages.  And  in  English  there  is  much  Arthurian  romance ; 
there  is  Chevy  Chace ; and  we  may  come  down  through  Chaucer’s  Knight’s  Tale 
to  the  sunset  beauty  of  Spenser’s  Fairie  Queen.  This  glorious  poem  should 
serve  to  fix  in  our  minds  the  principle  that  chivalry,  knighthood,  was  not  merely 
a material  fact,  a ceremony  and  an  institution ; but  that  it  also  was  that  ultra- 
reality, a spirit.  And  this  spirit’s  ideal  creations — the  ideal  creations  of  the 
many  phases  of  this  spirit — accorded  with  actual  deeds  which  may  be  read  of 
in  the  old  Chronicles.  For  final  exemplifications  of  the  actual  and  the  ideally 
real  in  chivalry,  the  reader  may  look  within  himself,  and  observe  the  inextricable  min- 
gling of  the  imaginative  and  the  real.  He  will  recognize  that  what  at  one  time  seems 
part  of  his  imagination,  at  another  will  prove  itself  the  veriest  reality  of  his  life.  Even 
such  wavering  verity  of  spirit  was  chivalry. 


CHAP.  XXIV 


ROMANTIC  CHIVALRY 


587 


retainers  and  possessions.  A ready  means  was  for  him  to 
marry  lands  and  serfs  in  the  robust  person  of  the  daughter, 
or  widow,  of  some  other  baron.  The  marriage  was  prefaced 
by  scant  courtship ; and  little  love  was  likely  to  ensue 
between  the  rough-handed  husband  and  high-tempered  wife. 
Such  conditions,  whether  in  Languedoc,  Aquitaine,  or 
Champagne,  made  it  likely  that  high-blooded  men  and 
women  would  satisfy  their  amorous  cravings  outside  the 
bonds  of  matrimony.  For  these  reasons,  among  others,  the 
Provencal  and  Old  French  literature,  which  was  the  medium 
of  development  for  the  sentiment  of  love,  did  not  commonly 
concern  itself  with  bringing  lovers  to  the  altar. 

In  literature,  as  in  life,  marriage  is  usually  the  goal  of 
bliss  and  silence  for  love-song  and  love-story : attainment 
quells  the  fictile  elements  of  fear  and  hope.  Entire  classes 
of  mediaeval  poetry  like  the  aube  (dawn)  and  the  pastorelle 
had  no  thought  of  marriage.  The  former  genre  of  Provencal 
and  Old  French,  as  well  as  Old  German,  poetry,  is  a lyric 
dialogue  wherein  the  sentiments  of  lover  and  mistress 
become  more  tender  with  the  approach  of  the  envious 
dawn.1  The  latter  is  the  song  of  the  merry  encounter  of 
some  clerk  or  cavalier  with  a mocking  or  complaisant 
shepherdess.  Yet  one  must  beware  of  speaking  too 
categorically.  For  in  mediaeval  love-literature,  marriage  is 
looked  forward  to  or  excluded  according  to  circumstances ; 
and  there  are  instances  of  romantic  love  where  the  lovers 
are  blessed  securely  by  the  priest  at  the  beginning  of  their 
adventures.  But  whether  the  lover  look  to  wed  his  lady,  or 
whether  he  have  wedded  her,  or  whether  she  be  but  his 
paramour,  is  all  a thing  of  incident,  dependent  on  the 
traditional  or  devised  plot  of  the  story.2 

Like  all  other  periods  that  have  been  articulate  in 

1 See  Gaston  Paris  in  Journal  des  savants,  1892,  pp.  161-163.  Of  qourse  the 
English  reader  cannot  but  think  of  the  brief  secret  marriage  between  Romeo  and 
Juliet. 

2 Marriage  or  no  marriage  depends  on  the  plot ; but  occasionally  a certain 
respect  for  marriage  is  shown,  as  in  the  Eliduc  of  Marie  de  France,  and  of  course 
far  more  strongly  in  Wolfram’s  Parzival.  In  Chretien’s  Ivain  the  hero  marries 
early  in  the  story;  and  thereafter  his  wife  acts  towards  him  with  the  haughty 
caprice  of  an  amie;  Ivan,  at  her  displeasure,  goes  mad,  like  an  ami.  The  romans 
d’aventure  afford  other  instances  of  this  courtly  love,  sometimes  illicit,  sometimes 
looking  to  marriage.  See  Langlois,  La  Societe  franqaise  an  XIIIe  siecle  d’apres  dix 
romans  d'aventure. 


588 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


literature — and  those  that  have  not  been,  so  far  as  one  may 
guess — the  Middle  Ages  experienced  and  expressed  the 
usual  ways  of  love.  These  need  not  detain  us.  For  they 
were  included  as  elements  within  those  interesting  forms  of 
romantic  love,  which  were  presented  in  the  lyrics  of  the 
Troubadours  and  their  more  or  less  conscious  imitators,  and 
in  the  romantic  narratives  of  chivalry.  This  literature 
elaborately  expresses  mediaeval  sentiments  and  also  love’s 
passion.  Its  ideals  drew  inspiration  from  Christianity  and 
many  a suggestion  from  the  antique.  More  especially,  in 
its  growth,  at  last  two  currents  seem  to  meet.  The  one 
sprang  from  the  fashions  of  Languedoc  and  the  courtly 
centres  of  the  north ; the  other  was  the  strain  of  fantasy 
and  passion  constituting  the  matiere  de  Bretagne. 

Languedoc  had  been  Romanized  before  the  Christian 
era,  and  thereafter  did  not  cease  to  be  the  home  of  the 
surviving  Latin  culture.  By  the  eleventh  century,  castles 
and  towns  held  a gay  and  aristocratic  society,  on  which 
Christianity,  honeycombed  with  heresy,  sat  lightly,  or  at 
least  joyfully.  This  society  was  inclined  to  luxury,  and  the 
gentle  relationships  between  men  and  women  interested  it 
exceedingly.  Out  of  it  as  the  eleventh  century  closes,  songs 
of  the  Troubadours  begin  to  rise  and  give  utterance  to 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  chivalric  love.  These  songs 
flourished  during  the  whole  of  the  twelfth  century,  and  then 
their  notes  were  crushed  by  the  Albigensian  Crusade,  which 
destroyed  the  pretty  life  from  which  they  sprang. 

She  whom  such  songs  were  meant  to  adulate  or  win, 
frequently  was  the  wife  of  the  Troubadour’s  lord.  The 
song  might  intend  nothing  beyond  such  worship  as  the 
lady’s  spouse  would  sanction;  or  it  might  give  subtle  voice 
to  a real  passion,  which  offered  and  sought  all.  To  separate 
the  sincere  and  passionate  from  the  fanciful  in  such  songs 
is  neither  easy  nor  apt,  since  fancy  may  enhance  the  ex- 
pression of  passion,  or  present  a pleasing  substitute.  At  all 
events,  in  this  very  personal  poetry,  passion  and  imaginative 
enhancings  blended  in  verses  that  might  move  a lady’s 
heart  or  vanity. 

Love,  with  the  Troubadours  and  their  ladies,  was  a 
source  of  joy.  Its  commands  and  exigencies  made  life’s 


CHAP.  XXIV 


ROMANTIC  CHIVALRY 


589 


supreme  law.  Love  was  knighthood’s  service ; it  was 
loyalty  and  devotion ; it  was  the  noblest  human  giving.  It 
was  also  the  spring  of  excellence,  the  inspiration  of  high 
deeds.  This  love  was  courteous,  delicately  ceremonial, 
precise,  and  on  the  lady’s  part  exacting  and  whimsical.  A 
moderate  knowledge  of  the  poems  and  lives  of  the  Trouba- 
dours and  their  ladies  will  show  that  love  with  its  joys  and 
pains,  its  passion,  its  fancies  and  subtle  conclusions,  made 
the  life  and  business  of  these  men  and  dames.1 

In  culture  and  the  love  of  pleasure  the  great  feudal 
courts  of  Aquitaine,  Champagne,  and  even  Flanders,  were 
scarcely  behind  the  society  of  Languedoc.  And  at  these 
courts,  rather  than  in  Languedoc,  courtly  love  encountered 
a new  passionate  current,  and  found  the  tales  which 
were  to  form  its  chief  vehicle.  These  were  the  lays 
and  stories,  as  of  Tristan  and  of  Arthur  and  his  knights, 
which  from  Great  Britain  had  come  to  Brittany  and  Nor- 
mandy. They  were  now  attracting  many  listeners  who  had 
no  part  with  Arthur  or  Tristan,  save  the  love  of  love  and 
adventure.  Marie  de  France  had  put  certain  Breton  lays 
into  Old  French  verse.  And  one  or  two  decades  later,  a 
request  from  the  great  Countess  Marie  de  Champagne  led 
Chretien  de  Troies,  as  we  have  seen,  to  recast  other  Breton 
tales  in  a manner  somewhat  transformed  with  thoughts  of 
courtly  love.  These  northern  poems  of  love  and  chivalry 
were  written  to  please  the  taste  of  high-born  dames,  just  as 
the  Troubadours  had  sung  and  still  were  singing  to  please 
their  sisters  in  the  south.  The  southern  poems  may  have 
influenced  the  northern.2 

In  the  courtly  society  of  Champagne  and  Aquitaine 
diverse  racial  elements  had  long  been  blending,  and  acquire- 
ments, once  foreign,  had  turned  into  personal  qualities. 
Views  of  life  had  been  evolved,  along  with  faculties  to 
express  them.  Likewise  modes  of  feeling  had  developed. 


1 On  Provencal  poetry  see  Diez,  Poesie  der  Troubadours  (2nd  ed.  by  Bartsch, 
Leipzig,  1883);  id.,  Leben  und  Werke  der  Troubadours ; Justin  H.  Smith,  The 
Troubadours  at  Home  (New  York  and  London,  1899);  Ida  Farnell,  Lives  of  the 
Troubadours  (London). 

2 Cf.  Gaston  Paris,  t.  30,  pp.  1-18,  Hist.  lit.  de  la  France ; Paul  Meyer,  Romania, 
v.  257-268;  xix.  1-62.  “Trouvere”  is  the  Old  French  word  corresponding  to 
Provencal  ‘ ‘ T roubadour . ’ ’ 


590 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


This  society  had  become  what  it  was  within  the  influence  of 
Christianity  and  the  antique  educational  tradition.  It  knew 
the  Song  of  Songs,  as  well  as  Ovid’s  stories,  and  likewise  his 
Ars  amatoria , which  Chretien  was  the  first  to  translate  into 
Old  French.  Possibly  its  Christianity  had  learned  of  a 
boundless  love  of  God,  and  its  mortal  nature  might  feel 
mortal  loves  equally  resistless.  And  now,  in  the  early 
twelfth  century,  there  came  from  lands  which  were  or  had 
been  Breton,  an  abundance  of  moving  and  catching  stories 
of  adventure  and  of  passion  which  broke  through  restraint, 
or  knew  none.  Dames  and  knights  and  their  rhymers  would 
eagerly  receive  such  tales,  and  not  as  barren  vessels ; for  they 
refashioned  and  reinspired  them  with  their  own  thoughts  of 
the  joy  of  life  and  love,  and  with  thoughts  of  love’s  high 
service  and  its  uplifting  virtue  for  the  lover,  and  again  of 
its  ways  and  the  laws  which  should  direct  and  guide,  but 
never  stem,  it. 

Thus  it  came  that  French  trouveres  enlarged  the  matter 
of  these  Breton  lays.  Their  romances  reflected  the  loftiest 
thoughts  and  the  most  eloquent  emotion  pertaining  to  the 
earthly  side  of  mediaeval  life.  In  these  rhyming  and  prose 
compositions,  love  was  resistless  in  power ; it  absorbed  the 
lover’s  nature ; it  became  his  sole  source  of  joy  and  pain. 
So  it  sought  nothing  but  its  own  fulfilment;  it  knew  no 
honour  save  its  own  demands.  It  was  unimpeachable,  for 
in  ecstasy  and  grief  it  was  accountable  to  no  law  except  that 
of  its  being.  This  resistless  love  was  also  life’s  highest 
worth,  and  the  spring  of  inspiration  and  strength  for  doing 
valorously  and  living  nobly.  The  trouvere  of  the  twelfth 
century  created  new  conceptions  of  love’s  service,  and  there- 
with the  impassioned  thought  that  beyond  what  men  might 
do  in  the  hope  of  love’s  fruition  or  at  the  dictates  of  its 
affection,  love  was  itself  a power  strengthening  and  ennobling 
him  who  loved.  Thought  and  feeling  joined  in  this  con- 
viction, each  helping  the  other  on,  in  interchanging  roles  of 
inspirer  and  inspired.  And  finally  the  two  are  one  : 

“Oltre  la  spera,  che  piu  larga  gira, 

Passa  il  sospiro  ch’  esce  del  mio  core : 

Intelligenza  nuova,  che  P Amore 

Piangendo  mette  in  lui,  pur  su  lo  tira.” 


CHAP.  XXIV 


ROMANTIC  CHIVALRY 


59i 


No  one  can  separate  the  thought  and  feeling  in  this  verse. 
But  they  were  not  always  fused.  The  mediaeval  fancy 
sported  with  this  love ; the  mediaeval  mind  delighted  in  it  as 
a theme  of  argument.  And  the  fancy  might  be  as  fantastic 
as  the  reasoning  was  finely  spun. 

The  literature  of  this  love  draws  no  sharp  lines  between 
love  as  resistless  passion  and  love  as  enabling  virtue ; yet 
these  two  aspects  are  distinguishable.  The  first  was  less 
an  original  creation  of  the  Middle  Ages  than  the  second. 
Antiquity  had  known  the  passion  which  overwhelmed  the 
stricken  mortal,  and  had  treated  it  as  something  put  upon 
the  man  and  woman,  a convulsive  joy,  also  a bane. 
Antiquity  had  analyzed  it  too,  and  had  shown  its  effects, 
especially  its  physical  symptoms.  Much  had  been  written 
of  its  fatal  nature ; songs  had  sung  how  it  overthrew  the 
strong  and  brought  men  and  women  to  their  death.  Looking 
upon  this  love  as  something  put  on  man  and  woman, 
antiquity  pictured  it  mainly  as  an  insanity  cast  like  a spell 
upon  some  one  who  otherwise  would  have  been  sane.  But 
the  Middle  Ages  saw  love  transformed  into  the  man  and 
woman,  saw  it  constitute  their  will  as  well  as  passion,  and 
perceived  that  it  was  their  being.  If  the  lover  could  not 
avoid  or  resist  it,  the  reason  was  because  it  was  his  mightiest 
self,  and  not  because  it  was  a compulsion  from  without;  it 
was  his  nature,  not  his  disease. 

The  nature,  ways,  and  laws  of  this  high  and  ennobling 
love  were  much  pondered  on  and  talked  of.  They  were 
expounded  in  pedantic  treatises,  as  well  as  set  forth  in  tales 
which  sometimes  have  the  breath  of  universal  life.  Ovid’s 
Ars  amatoria  furnished  the  idea  that  love  was  an  art  to  be 
learned  and  practised.  Mediaeval  clerks  and  rhymers  took 
his  light  art  seriously,  and  certain  of  them  made  manuals 
of  the  rules  and  precepts  of  love,  devised  by  themselves 
and  others  interested  in  such  fancies.  An  example  is  the 
Flos  amoris  or  Ars  amatoria  of  Andrew  the  Chaplain,  who 
compiled  his  book  not  far  from  the  year  1200.1  He  wrote 
with  his  obsequious  head  filled  with  a sense  of  the  authority 


1 On  this  work  see  Gaston  Paris,  Romania,  xii.  524  sqq.  (1883);  id.  in  Journal 
des  savants,  1888,  pp.  664  sqq.  and  727  sqq.;  also  (for  extracts)  Raynouard,  Choix  des 
poesies  des  Troubadours,  ii.  lxxx.  sqq. 


592 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


in  love  matters  of  Marie  de  Champagne,  and  other  great 
ladies.  His  book  contains  a number  of  curious  questions 
which  had  been  laid  before  one  or  the  other  of  those  reigning 
dames,  and  which  they  solved  boldly  in  love’s  favour.  Thus 
on  solicitation  Countess  Marie  decided  that  there  could  be 
no  true  love  between  a husband  and  wife;  and  that  the 
possession  of  an  honoured  husband  or  beautiful  wife  did  not 
bar  the  proffer  or  acceptance  of  love  from  another.  The 
living  literature  of  love  was  never  constrained  by  the  foolish- 
ness of  the  first  proposition,  but  was  freely  to  exemplify  the 
further  conclusion  which  others  besides  the  countess  drew. 

Andrew  gives  a code  of  love’s  rules.  He  would  have  no 
one  think  that  he  composed  them;  but  that  he  saw  them 
written  on  a parchment  attached  to  the  hawk’s  perch,  and 
won  at  Arthur’s  Court  by  the  valour  of  a certain  Breton 
knight.  They  read  like  proverbs,  and  undoubtedly  represent 
the  ideas  of  courtly  society  upon  courtly  love.  There  are 
thirty-one  of  them — for  example  : 

(1)  Marriage  is  not  a good  excuse  for  rejecting  love. 

(2)  Who  does  not  conceal,  cannot  love. 

(3)  None  can  love  two  at  once.  There  is  no  reason  why  a 
woman  should  not  be  loved  by  two  men,  or  a man  by  two  women. 

(4)  It  is  love’s  way  always  to  increase  or  lessen. 

(9)  None  can  love  except  one  who  is  moved  by  love’s  suasion. 

(12)  The  true  lover  has  no  desire  to  embrace  any  one  except  his 
(or  her)  co-lover  (< co-amans ). 

(13)  Love  when  published  rarely  endures. 

(14)  Easy  winning  makes  love  despicable ; the  difficult  is  held 
dear. 

(15)  Every  lover  turns  pale  in  the  sight  of  the  co-lover. 

(16)  The  lover’s  heart  trembles  at  the  sudden  sight  of  the 
co-lover. 

(18)  Prowess  ( probitas ) alone  makes  one  worthy  of  love. 

(20)  The  lover  is  always  fearful. 

(23)  The  one  whom  the  thought  of  love  disturbs,  eats  and 
sleeps  little. 

(25)  The  true  lover  finds  happiness  only  in  what  he  deems  will 
please  his  co-lover. 

(28)  A slight  fault  in  the  lover  awakens  the  co-lover’s  suspicion. 

(30)  The  true  lover  constantly,  without  intermission,  is  en- 
grossed with  the  image  of  the  co-lover. 


CHAP.  XXIV 


ROMANTIC  CHIVALRY 


593 


These  rules  were  exemplified  in  the  imaginative  litera- 
ture of  courtly  love.  Such  love  and  the  feats  inspired  by 
it  made  the  chief  matter  of  the  Arthurian  romances,  which 
became  the  literary  property  of  western  Europe ; and  the 
supreme  examples  of  their  darling  theme  are  the  careers  and 
fortunes  of  the  two  most  famous  pairs  of  lovers  in  all  this 
gallant  cycle,  Tristan  and  Iseult,  Lancelot  and  Guinevere. 
In  the  former  story  love  is  resistless  passion;  in  the  latter 
its  virtue-  and  valour-bestowing  qualities  appear.  In  both, 
the  laws  forbidding  its  fruition  are  shattered : in  the  Tristan 
story  blindly,  madly,  without  further  thought;  while  in  the 
tale  of  Lancelot  this  conflict  sometimes  rises  to  conscious- 
ness even  in  the  lovers’  hearts.  How  chivalric  love  may 
reach  accord  with  Christian  precept  will  be  shown  hereafter 
in  the  progress  of  the  white  and  scarlet  soul  of  Parzival,  the 
brave  man  proving  himself  slowly  wise. 

Probably  there  never  was  a better  version  of  the  story  of 
Tristan  and  Iseult  than  that  of  Gottfried  of  Strassburg,  who 
transformed  French  originals  into  his  Middle  High  German 
poem  about  the  year  1210.1  The  poet-adapter  sets  forth 
his  ideas  of  love  in  an  elaborate  prologue.  Very  anti- 
thetically he  shows  its  bitter  sweet,  its  dear  sorrow, 
its  yearning  need ; indeed  to  love  is  to  yearn — an  idea 
not  strange  to  Plato — and  Gottfried  uses  the  words 
sene,  senelich,  senedaere  (all  of  which  are  related  to  sehn- 
sucht,  which  is  yearning)  to  signify  love,  a lover,  and  his 
pain.  His  poem  shall  be  of  two  noble  lovers  : 

“Ein  senedaere,  eine  senedaerin.” 

The  more  love’s  fire  burns  the  heart,  the  more  one 
loves;  this  pain  is  full  of  love,  an  ill  so  good  for  the  heart 
that  no  noble  nature  once  roused  by  it  would  wish  to  lose 
part  therein.  Who  never  felt  love’s  pain  has  never  felt  love  : 

“Liep  unde  leit  diu  waren  ie 
An  minnen  ungescheiden.” 

It  is  good  for  men  to  hear  a tale  of  noble  love,  yes,  a 
deep  good..  It  sweetens  love  and  raises  the  hearer’s  mood; 
it  strengthens  troth,  enriches  life.  Love,  troth,  a constant 

1 On  origins  and  sources  see,  generally,  Gaston  Paris,  Tristan  and  Iseult  (Paris, 
1894),  reprinted  from  Revue  de  Paris  of  April  15,  1894;  W.  Golther,  Die  Saga  von 
Tristan  und  Isolde  (Munich,  1887). 

VOL.  I 2 Q 


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spirit,  honour,  and  whatever  else  is  good,  are  never  so 
precious  as  when  set  in  a tale  of  love’s  joy  and  pain.  Love 
is  such  a blessed  thing,  such  a blessed  striving,  that  no  one 
without  its  teaching  has  worth  or  honour.  These  lovers 
died  long  ago ; yet  their  love  and  troth,  their  life,  their 
death,  will  still  give  troth  and  honour  to  seekers  after  these. 
Their  death  lives  and  is  ever  new,  as  we  listen  to  the  tale. 
Evidently,  in  Gottfried’s  mind  the  Tristan  tale  of  love’s 
almighty  passion  carried  the  thought  of  love  as  the  inspira- 
tion of  a noble  life.  Yet  that  thought  was  not  native  to  the 
legend,  and  finds  scant  exemplification  in  Gottfried’s  poem. 

The  tragic  passion  of  the  main  narrative  is  presaged  by 
the  story  of  Tristan’s  parents.  His  mother  was  Blancheflur, 
King  Mark’s  sister,  and  his  father  Prince  Riwalin.  She  saw 
him  in  the  May-court  tourney  held  near  Tintajoel.  She 
took  him  into  her  thoughts ; he  entered  her  heart,  and  there 
wore  crown  and  sceptre. 

She  greeted  him;  he  her.  She  bashfully  began: — “My 
lord,  may  God  enrich  your  heart  and  courage ; but  I harbour 
something  against  you.” 

“Sweet  one,  what  have  I done?” 

“You  have  done  violence  to  my  best  friend” — it  was 
her  heart,  she  meant. 

“Beauty,  bear  me  no  hate  for  that;  command,  and  I 
will  do  your  bidding.” 

“Then  I will  not  hate  you  bitterly.  I will  see  what 
atonement  you  will  make.” 

He  bowed,  and  carried  with  him  her  image.  Love’s 
will  mastered  his  heart,  as  he  thought  of  Blancheflur,  of  her 
hair,  her  brow,  her  cheek,  her  mouth,  her  chin,  and  the  glad 
Easter  day  that  smiling  lay  in  her  eyes.  Love  the  heart- 
burner  set  his  heart  aflame,  and  lo ! he  entered  upon  another 
life ; purpose  and  habit  changed,  he  was  another  man. 

Sad  is  the  short  tale  of  these  lovers.  Riwalin  is  killed 
in  battle,  and  at  the  news  of  his  death  Blancheflur  expires, 
giving  birth  to  a son.  Rual  the  Faithful  names  the  child 
Tristan,  to  symbolize  the  sorrow  of  its  birth. 

The  story  of  Tristan’s  early  years  draws  the  reader  to 
the  accomplished,  happy  youth.  He  is  the  delight  of  all; 
for  his  young  manhood  is  courtliness  itself,  and  valour  and 


CHAP.  XXIV 


ROMANTIC  CHIVALRY 


595 


generosity.  He  is  loved,  and  afterwards  recognized  and 
knighted,  by  his  uncle  Mark.  Then  he  sets  out  and  avenges 
his  father’s  death ; after  which  he  returns  to  Mark’s  Court, 
and  vanquishes  the  Irish  champion  Morold.  A fragment 
of  Tristan’s  sword  remained  in  Morold’s  head ; Tristan 
himself  received  a poisoned  wound,  which  could  be  healed,  as 
the  dying  Morold  told  him,  only  by  Ireland’s  queen,  Iseult. 
Very  charming  is  the  story  of  Tristan’s  first  visit  to  Ireland, 
disguised  as  a harper,  under  the  name  of  Tantris.  The 
queen  hearing  of  his  skill,  has  him  brought  to  the  palace, 
where  she  heals  him,  and  he  in  return  becomes  the  teacher 
of  her  daughter,  the  younger  Iseult,  whom  he  instructs  in 
letters,  music  and  singing,  French  and  Latin,  ethics,  courtly 
arts  and  manners,  till  the  girl  became  as  accomplished  as  she 
was  beautiful,  and  could  write  and  read,  and  compose  and 
sing  pastor elles  and  rondeaux  and  other  songs. 

On  his  return  to  Cornwall  he  told  Mark  of  the  young 
Iseult,  and  then,  at  Mark’s  request,  set  forth  again  to  woo 
her  for  him.  The  Irish  king  has  promised  his  daughter  to 
whoever  shall  slay  the  dragon.  Tristan  does  the  deed,  cuts 
out  the  dragon’s  tongue  as  proof,  and  then  falls  overcome 
and  fainting.  The  king’s  cupbearer  comes  by,  breaks  his 
lance  on  the  dead  dragon,  and,  riding  on,  announces  that  he 
has  slain  the  monster ; he  has  the  great  head  brought  to 
the  Court  upon  a wagon.  Iseult  is  in  despair  at  the 
thought  of  marrying  the  cupbearer ; her  mother  doubts  his 
story,  and  bids  Iseult  ride  out  and  search  for  the  real  slayer. 
The  ladies  discover  Tristan,  with  him  the  dragon’s  tongue. 
They  carry  him  to  the  palace  to  heal  him,  and  the  young 
Iseult  recognizes  him  as  the  harper  Tantris,  and  redoubles 
her  kind  care.  But  after  a while  she  noticed  the  notch  in 
his  sword,  and  saw  that  it  fitted  the  fragment  found  in 
Morold’s  head — and  is  not  Tantris  just  Tristan  reversed? 
This  is  the  man  who  slew  Morold,  her  mother’s  brother ! 
She  seizes  the  sword  and  rushes  in  to  kill  him  in  his  bath. 
Her  mother  checks  her,  and  at  last  she  is  appeased,  Tristan 
letting  them  see  that  an  important  mission  has  brought  him 
to  Ireland.  There  is  truce  between  them,  and  Tristan  goes 
to  the  king  with  Mark’s  demand  for  Iseult ’s  hand.  Then 
the  cupbearer  is  discomfited,  peace  is  made  between  the 


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BOOK  IV 


Irish  king  and  Mark,  and  the  young  Iseult,  with  Brangaene 
her  cousin,  makes  ready  to  sail  with  Tristan.  The  queen 
secretly  gave  a love-drink  into  Brangaene’s  care,  which 
Iseult  and  Mark  should  drink  together.  The  people  followed 
down  to  the  haven,  and  all  wept  and  lamented  that  with  fair 
Iseult  the  sunshine  had  left  Ireland. 

Iseult  is  sad.  She  cannot  forget  that  it  is  Tristan  who 
slew  her  uncle  and  is  now  taking  her  from  her  home. 
Tristan  fails  to  comfort  her.  They  see  land.  Tristan  calls 
for  wine  to  pledge  Iseult.  A little  maid  brings — the  love- 
drink  ! They  drink  together,  not  wine  but  that  endless 
heart’s  pain  which  shall  be  their  common  death.  Too 
late,  Brangaene  with  a cry  throws  the  goblet  into  the 
sea.  Love  stole  into  both  their  hearts ; gone  was  Iseult’s 
hate.  They  were  no  longer  two,  but  one;  the  sinner,  love, 
had  done  it.  They  were  each  other’s  joy  and  pain;  doubt 
and  shame  seized  them.  Tristan  bethought  him  of  his 
loyalty  and  honour,  struggling  against  love  vainly.  Iseult 
was  like  a bird  caught  with  the  fowler’s  lime ; shame  drove 
her  eyes  away  from  him ; but  love  drew  her  heart.  She 
gave  over  the  contest  as  she  looked  on  him,  and  he  also 
began  to  yield.  They  thought  each  other  fairer  than  before ; 
love  was  conquering. 

The  ship  sails  on.  Love’s  need  conquered.  They  talk 
together  of  the  past,  how  he  had  once  come  in  a little  boat, 
and  of  the  lessons : “Fair  Iseult,  what  is  troubling  you?” 
“What  I know,  that  troubles  me ; what  I see,  the  heaven 
and  sea,  that  weighs  on  me ; body  and  life  are  heavy.” 

They  leaned  toward  each  other;  bright  eyes  began  to 
fill  from  the  heart’s  spring ; her  head  sank,  his  arm  sustained 
her ; — “Ah  ! sweet,  tell  me,  what  is  it?” 

Answered  love’s  feather-play,  Iseult:  “Love  is  my  need, 
love  is  my  pain.” 

He  answered  painfully:  “Fair  Iseult,  it  is  the  rude  wind 
and  sea.” 

“No,  no,  it  is  not  wind  or  sea ; love  is  my  pain.” 

“Beauty,  so  with  me!  Love  and  you  make  my  need. 
Heart’s  lady,  dear  Iseult,  you  and  the  love  of  you  have 
seized  me.  I am  dazed.  I cannot  find  myself.  All  the 
world  has  become  naught,  save  thee  alone.” 


CHAP.  XXIV 


ROMANTIC  CHIVALRY 


597 


“Sir,  so  is  it  with  me.” 

They  loved,  and  in  each  other  saw  one  mind,  one  heart, 
one  will.  Their  silent  kiss  was  long.  In  the  night,  love 
the  physician  brought  their  only  balm.  Sweet  had  the 
voyage  become ; alas  ! that  it  must  end. 

With  their  landing  begins  the  trickery  and  falsehood 
compelled  by  the  situation.  The  fearful  Iseult  plotted  to 
murder  the  true  Brangaene,  who  alone  knew.  After  a while 
Mark’s  suspicion  is  aroused,  to  be  lulled  by  guile.  Plot  and 
counterplot  go  on;  the  lovers  win  and  win  again;  truth 
and  honour,  everything  save  love’s  joy  and  fear  and  all- 
sufficiency,  are  cast  to  the  winds.  Even  the  “Judgment  of 
God”  is  tricked;  the  hot  iron  does  not  burn  Iseult  swearing 
her  false  oath,  literally  true.  Many  a time  Mark’s  jealousy 
has  been  fiercely  stirred,  only  to  be  tricked  to  sleep  again. 
Yet  he  knows  that  Tristan  and  Iseult  are  lovers.  He  calls 
them  to  him ; he  tells  them  he  will  not  avenge  himself,  they 
are  too  dear  to  him.  But  let  them  take  each  other  by  the 
hand  and  leave  him.  So,  together,  they  disappear  in  the 
forest. 

Then  comes  the  wonderful,  beautiful  story  of  the  love- 
grotto  and  the  lovers’  forest-life ; they  had  the  forest  and 
they  had  themselves,  and  needed  no  more.  One  morning 
they  rose  to  the  sweet  birds’  song  of  greeting;  but  they 
heard  a horn;  Mark  must  be  hunting  near.  So  they  were 
very  careful,  and  again  prepared  deception.  Mark  has  been 
told  of  the  love-grotto  in  the  wood.  In  the  night  he  came 
and  found  it,  looked  through  its  little  rustic  window  as  the 
day  began  to  dawn.  There  lay  the  lovers,  apart,  a naked 
sword  between  them.  A sunbeam,  stealing  through  the 
window,  touches  Iseult’s  cheek,  touches  her  sweet  mouth. 
Mark  loves  her  anew.  Then  fearful  lest  the  sunlight  should 
disturb  her,  he  covered  the  window  with  grass  and  leaves 
and  flowers,  blessed  her,  and  went  away  in  tears.  The 
lovers  waken.  They  had  no  need  to  fear.  The  lie  of  the 
naked  sword  again  had  won.  Mark  sends  and  invites  them 
to  return. 

Insatiable  love  knew  no  surcease  or  pause.  The 
German  poet  is  driven  to  a few  reflections  on  the  deceits  of 
Eve’s  daughters,  the  anxieties  of  forbidden  love,  and  the 


598 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


crown  of  worth  and  joy  that  a true  woman’s  love  may  be. 
At  last  the  lovers  are  betrayed — in  each  other’s  arms. 
They  know  that  Mark  has  seen  them. 

“Heart’s  lady,  fair  Iseult,  now  we  must  part.  Let  me 
not  pass  from  your  heart.  Iseult  must  ever  be  in  Tristan’s 
heart.  Forget  me  not.” 

Says  Iseult:  “Our  hearts  have  been  too  long  one  ever 
to  know  forgetting.  Whether  you  are  near  or  far,  nothing 
but  Tristan  enters  mine.  See  to  it  that  no  other  woman 
parts  us.  Take  this  ring  and  think  of  me.  Iseult  with 
Tristan  has  been  ever  one  heart,  one  troth,  one  body,  one 
life.  Think  of  me  as  your  life — Iseult.” 

The  fateful  turning  of  the  story  is  not  far  off : Tristan 
has  met  the  other  Iseult,  her  of  the  white  hands.  The  poet 
Gottfried  did  not  complete  his  work.  He  died,  leaving 
Tristan’s  heart  struggling  between  the  old  love  and  the  new 
— the  new  and  weaker  love,  but  the  more  present  offering 
to  pain.  The  story  was  variously  concluded  by  different 
rhymers,  in  Gottfried’s  time  and  after.  The  best  ending  is 
the  extant  fragment  of  the  Tristan  by  Thomas  of  Brittany, 
the  master  whom  Gottfried  followed.  In  it,  the  wounded 
Tristan  dies  at  the  false  news  of  the  black  sails — the 
treachery  of  Iseult  of  the  white  hands.  The  true  Iseult 
finds  him  dead ; kisses  him,  takes  him  in  her  arms,  and 
dies. 

From  the  time  when  on  the  ship  Tristan  and  Iseult  cast 
shame  and  honour  to  the  winds,  the  story  tells  of  a love 
which  knows  no  law  except  itself,  a love  which  is  not 
hindered  or  made  to  hesitate  and  doubt  by  any  command 
of  righteousness  or  honour.  Love  is  the  theme;  the  tale 
has  no  sympathy  or  understanding  for  anything  else.  It  is 
therefore  free  from  the  consciously  realized  inconsistencies 
present  at  least  in  some  versions  of  the  story  of  Lancelot 
and  Guinevere.  In  them  two  laws  of  life  seem  on  the  verge 
of  conflict.  On  the  one — the  feebler — side,  honour,  troth 
to  marriage  vows,  some  sense  of  right  and  wrong;  on  the 
other,  passionate  love,  which  is  law  and  right  unto  itself, 
having  its  own  commands  and  prohibitions ; a love  which  is 
also  an  inspiration  and  uplifting  power  unto  the  lover ; a 
love  holy  in  itself  and  yet  because  of  its  high  nature  the 


CHAP.  XXIV 


ROMANTIC  CHIVALRY 


599 


more  fatally  impeached  by  truth  and  honour  trampled  on. 
In  the  conflict  between  the  two  laws  of  life  in  the  Lancelot 
story,  the  rights  and  needs  and  power  of  love  maintain 
themselves ; yet  the  end  must  come,  and  the  lovers  live  out 
love’s  palinode  in  separate  convents.  For  this  love  to  be 
made  perfect,  must  be  crowned  with  repentance. 

Who  first  created  Lancelot,  and  who  first  made  the 
peerless  knight  love  Arthur’s  queen?  This  question  has 
not  yet  been  answered.1  Chretien  de  Troies’  poem,  Le 
Conte  de  la  charrette , has  for  its  subject  an  episode  in 
Lancelot’s  long  love  of  Guinevere.2  Here,  as  in  his  other 
poems,  Chretien  is  a facile  narrator,  with  little  sense  of  the 
significance  that  might  be  given  to  the  stories  which  he 
received  and  cleverly  remade.  But  their  significance  is 
shown  in  the  Old  French  prose  Lancelot , probably  com- 
posed two  or  three  decades  after  Chretien  wrote.  It  con- 
tains the  lovely  story  of  Lancelot’s  rearing,  by  the  Lady  of 
the  Lake,  and  of  his  glorious  youth.  It  brings  him  to  the 
Court  of  Arthur,  and  tells  how  he  was  made  knight — it 
was  the  queen  and  not  the  king  from  whom  he  received 
his  sword.  And  he  loves  her — loves  her  and  her  only  from 
the  first  until  his  death.  He  has  no  thought  of  serving  any 
other  mistress.  And  he  is  aided  in  his  love  by  the  “ haute 
prince  Galehaut,”  the  most  high-hearted  friend  that  ever 
gave  himself  to  his  friend’s  weal. 

From  the  beginning  Lancelot’s  love  is  worship,  it  is 
holy;  and  almost  from  the  beginning  it  is  unholy.  From 
the  beginning,  too,  it  is  the  man’s  inspiration,  it  is  his 
strength ; it  makes  him  the  peerless  knight,  peerless  in 
courtesy,  peerless  in  emprise;  this  love  gives  him  the  single 
eye,  the  unswerving  heart,  the  resistless  valour  to  accomplish 
those  adventures  wherein  all  other  knights  had  found  their 
shame — they  were  not  perfect  lovers ! Only  through  his 
perfect  love  could  Lancelot  have  accomplished  that  greatest 
adventure  of  the  Val  des  faux  amants; — Val  sans  retour  for 
all  other  knights.3  Lancelot  alone  had  always  been,  and  to 


1 Cf.  generally,  J.  L.  Weston,  The  Legend  of  Sir  Lancelot  du  Lac  (London,  1901, 
David  Nutt). 

2 See  Gaston  Paris,  Romania,  xii.  459-534. 

3 Paulin  Paris,  Romans  de  la  Table  Ronde,  iv.  280  sqq. 


6oo 


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BOOK  IV 


his  death  remained,  a lover  absolutely  true  in  act  and  word 
and  thought ; incomparably  more  chastely  loyal  to  Guinevere 
than  her  kingly  spouse.  Against  the  singleness  of  this 
perfect  love  enchantments  fail,  and  swords  and  lances  break. 
Yet  this  love,  fraught  with  untruth  and  dishonour,  must 
conceal  itself  from  that  king  who,  while  breaking  his  own 
marriage  vows  as  passion  led  him,  trusted  and  honoured 
above  all  men  the  peerless  knight  whose  peerlessness  was 
rooted  in  his  unholy  holy  love  for  Arthur’s  queen. 

The  first  full  sin  between  Lancelot  and  Guinevere  was 
committed  when  Arthur  was  absent  on  a love-adventure, 
which  brought  him  to  a shameful  prison.  He  was  delivered 
by  Lancelot,  and  recognizing  his  deliverer,  he  said  in  royal 
gratitude:  “I  yield  you  my  land,  my  honour,  and  myself.” 
Lancelot  blushes ! Thereafter,  as  towards  Arthur,  Lancelot 
and  Guinevere  are  forced  into  stratagems  almost  as  ignoble 
as  those  by  which  King  Mark  was  tricked.  And  Guinevere 
— she  too  is  peerless  among  women ; perfect  in  beauty, 
perfect  in  courtliness,  perfect  in  dutifulness  to  her  husband 
— saving  her  love  for  Lancelot ! Guinevere’s  dutifulness  to 
Arthur  is  not  shaken  by  his  outrageous  treatment  of  her 
because  of  the  “ false  Guinevere,”  when  he  cast  off  and 
sought  to  burn  his  queen.  She  will  continue  to  obey  him 
though  he  has  dishonoured  her — and  all  the  time,  unknown 
to  her  outrageous,  unjustly  accusing  lord,  how  had  she  cast 
her  and  his  honour  down  with  Lancelot.  Only  while  she 
is  put  away  from  her  lord,  and  under  Lancelot’s  guard,  for 
that  time  she  will  be  true  to  marriage  vows ; and  Lancelot 
assents.1 

The  latter  part  of  the  story,  when  asceticism  enters  with 
Galahad,2  suggests  that  the  peerless  knight  of  “les  temps 

1 See  Paulin  Paris,  Romans  de  la  Table  Ronde,  iv.  Guinevere’s  woman-mind 
is  shown  in  the  following  scene.  On  an  occasion  the  lover’s  sophisticated  friend,  the 
Dame  de  Malehaut,  laughs  tauntingly  at  Lancelot : 

“ ‘Ah!  Lancelot,  Lancelot,  dit-elle,  je  vois  que  le  roi  n’a  plus  d’autre  avantage 
sur  vous  que  la  couronne  de  Logres ! ’ 

“Et  comme  il  ne  trouvait  rien  a repondre  de  convenable,  ‘Ma  chere  Malehaut, 
dit  la  reine,  si  je  suis  fille  de  roi,  il  est  fils  de  roi ; si  je  suis  belle,  il  est  beau ; de  plus, 
il  est  le  plus  preux  des  preux.  Je  n’ai  done  pas  a rougir  de  l’avoir  choisi  pour  mon 
chevalier’  ” (Paulin  Paris,  ibid.  iv.  58). 

2 Galahad’s  mother  was  Helene,  daughter  of  King  Pelles  ( roi  pecheur),  the 
custodian  of  the  Holy  Grail.  A love-philter  makes  Lancelot  mistake  her  for 
Guinevere;  and  so  the  knight’s  loyalty  to  his  mistress  is  saved.  The  damsel 


chap,  xxiv  ROMANTIC  CHIVALRY  601 

adventureux”  was  sinful.  But  the  main  body  of  the  tale 
put  no  reproach  on  Lancelot  for  his  great  love.  It  told  of  a 
love  as  perfect  and  as  absolute  as  the  author  or  compiler 
could  conceive;  and  the  conduct  of  Lancelot  was  intended 
to  be  that  of  a perfect  lover,  whose  sentiments  and  actions 
should  accord  with  the  idea  of  courtly  love  and  exemplify  its 
rules.  Their  underlying  principle  was  that  love  should 
always  be  absolute,  and  that  the  lover’s  every  thought  and 
act  should  on  all  occasions  correspond  with  the  most 
extreme  feelings  or  sentiments  or  fancies  possible  for  a 
lover.  In  the  prose  narrative,  for  example,  Lancelot  goes 
mad  three  times  because  of  his  mistress’s  cruelty,  a cruelty 
which  may  seem  to  us  absurd,  but  which  represents  the 
adored  lady’s  insistence,  under  all  circumstances,  upon  the 
most  unhesitating  and  utter  devotion  from  her  lover. 

Chretien’s  Conte  de  la  charrette  is  a clear  rendering  of  the 
idea  that  love  shall  be  absolute,  and  hesitate  at  nothing ; it 
is  an  example  of  courtly  love  carried  to  its  furthest  imagined 
conclusions.  It  displays  all  the  rules  of  Andrew  the 
Chaplain  in  operation.  In  it  Lancelot  will  do  anything  for 
Guinevere,  will  show  himself  a coward  knight  at  her 
command,  or  perform  feats  of  arms ; he  will  desire  the  least 
little  bit  of  her — a tress  of  hair — more  than  all  else  which  is 
not  she ; he  will  throw  himself  from  the  window  to  be  near 
her ; engaged  in  deadly  combat,  the  sight  of  her  makes  him 
forget  his  enemy ; at  the  news  of  her  death  he  seeks  at  once 
to  die.  Of  course  his  heart  loathes  the  thought  of  infringing 
this  great  love  by  the  slightest  fancy  for  another  woman. 
On  the  other  hand,  when  by  marvels  of  valour  Lancelot 
rescues  Guinevere  from  captivity,  she  will  not  speak  to  him 
because  for  a single  instant  he  had  hesitated  to  mount  a 
charrette , in  which  no  knight  was  carried  save  one  who 
was  felon  and  condemned  to  death.  This  was  logical  on 
Guinevere’s  part;  Lancelot’s  love  should  always  have  been 
so  absolute  as  never  for  one  instant  to  hesitate.  Much  of 
this  is  extreme,  and  yet  hardly  unreal.  Heloise’s  love  for 
Abaelard  never  hesitated. 

Such  love,  imperious  and  absolute,  shuts  out  all  laws 


herself  was  without  passion,  beyond  the  wish  to  bear  a son  begotten  by  the  best  of 
knights  ( Romans , etc.,  v.  308  sqq.). 


602 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  MIND 


BOOK  IV 


and  exigencies  save  its  own ; 1 it  must  be  virtue  and  honour 
unto  itself;  it  is  careless  of  what  ill  it  may  do  so  long  as 
that  ill  does  not  infringe  love’s  laws.  Evidently  before  it 
the  bonds  of  marriage  break,  or  pale  to  insignificance.  It  is 
its  own  sanction,  nor  needs  the  faint  blessing  of  the  priest. 
The  poet — as  the  actual  lover  likewise — may  even  deem 
that  love  can  best  show  itself  to  be  the  principle  of  its  own 
honour  when  unsustained  by  wedlock ; thus  unsustained  and 
unobscured  it  stands  alone,  fairer,  clearer,  more  interesting 
and  romantic.  Again,  since  mediaeval  marriage  in  high  life 
was  more  often  a joining  of  fiefs  than  a union  of  hearts, 
there  would  be  high-born  dames  and  courtly  poets  to 
declare  that  love  could  only  exist  between  knight  and 
mistress,  and  not  between  husband  and  wife.  Marriage 
shuts  out  love’s  doubts  and  fears ; there  is  no  need  of 
further  knightly  services;  and  husband  and  wife  by  law 
are  bound  to  render  to  each  other  what  between  lovers 
is  gracious  favour ; this  was  the  opinion  of  Marie  de 
Champagne,  it  also  was  the  opinion  of  Heloise.  In 
chivalric  poetry  the  lovers,  when  at  last  duly  married,  may 
continue  to  call  each  other  ami  et  amie  rather  than  wife  and 
lord ; 2 or  a knight  may  shun  marriage  lest  he  settle  down 
and  lose  worship,  doing  no  more  adventurous  feats  of  arms, 
like  Chretien’s  Erec,  till  his  wife  Enide  stung  him  by  her 
speech.3  Some  centuries  later  Malory  has  Lancelot  utter  a 
like  sentiment:  “But  to  be  a wedded  man  I think  never 
to  be,  for  if  I were,  then  should  I be  bound  to  tarry  with 
my  wife,  and  leave  arms  and  tournaments,  battles  and 
adventures.” 

If  allowance  be  made  for  the  difference  in  topic  and 
treatment  between  the  Arthurian  romances  and  Guillaume 
de  Lorris’s  portion  of  the  Roman  de  la  rose , the  latter  will 
be  seen  to  illustrate  similar  love  principles.  De  Lorris’s 

1 “For  what  is  he  that  may  yeve  a lawe  to  lovers?  Love  is  a gretter  lawe  and 
a strengere  to  himself  than  any  lawe  that  men  may  yeven”  (Chaucer,  Boece,  book 
iii.  metre  12). 

2 As  in  Chretien’s  Cliges,  6751  sqq.,  when  Cliges  is  crowned  emperor  and  Fenice 
becomes  his  queen,  then : De  s' amie  a feite  sa  fame — but  he  still  calls  her  amie  et  dame, 
that  he  may  not  cease  to  love  her  as  one  should  an  amie.  Cf.  also  Chretien’s  Erec, 
4689. 

3 See  also  Gawain’s  words  to  I vain  when  the  latter  is  married — in  Chretien’s 
I vain,  2484  sqq. 


chap,  xxiv  ROMANTIC  CHIVALRY  603 

poem  is  fancy  playing  with  thoughts  of  love  which  had 
inspired  these  tales  of  chivalry.  Every  one  knows  its  gentle 
idyllic  character  ;• — how  charming,  for  instance,  is  the 
conflict  between  the  Lover-to-be  and  Love,  who  quickly 
overcomes  the  ready  yielder.  So  he  surrenders  uncon- 
ditionally, gives  himself  over ; Love  may  slay  him  or 
gladden  him — “le  cuers  est  vostre,  non  pas  miens,”  says  the 
lover  to  Love,  and  you  shall  do  with  it  as  you  will.  Then 
Love  sweetly  takes  his  little  golden  key,  and  locks  the 
lover’s  heart,  after  which  he  safely  may  impart  his  rules 
and  counsels : the  lover  must  adjure  vilanie , and  foul  and 
slanderous  speech — the  opposite  of  courtesy.  Pride  also 
(orgoil)  must  be  abandoned.  He  should  attire  himself 
seemingly,  and  show  cheerfulness ; he  must  be  niggardly  in 
nothing ; his  heart  must  be  given  utterly  to  one ; he  shall 
undergo  toils  and  endure  griefs  without  complaint ; in 
absence  he  will  always  think  of  the  beloved,  sighing  for  her, 
keeping  his  love  aflame ; he  will  be  shameful,  confused  and 
changing  colour  in  her  presence;  at  night  he  will  toss  and 
weep  for  love  of  her,  and  dream  dreams  of  passionate 
delight ; then  wakeful,  he  will  rise  and  wander  near  her 
dwelling,  but  will  not  be  seen — nor  will  he  forget  to  be 
generous  to  her  waiting-maid.  All  of  this  will  make  the 
lover  pale  and  lean.  To  aid  him  to  endure  these  agonies, 
will  come  Hope  with  her  gentle  healings,  and  Fond-thought, 
and  Sweet-speech  of  the  beloved  with  a wise  confidant,  and 
Sweet-sight  of  her  dwelling,  maybe  of  herself.  The  Roman 
de  la  rose  is  fancy,  and  the  Arthurian  romances  are  fiction. 
In  the  one  or  the  other,  imagination  may  take  the  place  of 
passion,  and  the  contents  of  the  poem  or  romance  afford  a 
type  and  presentation  of  the  theory  of  love. 


END  OF  VOL.  I 


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